


добро пожаловать назад, Солдат {Welcome back, Soldier}

by Emmathetankengine



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alexander Pierce - Freeform, Biomedic, Dejah Forest - Freeform, F/M, Hiding Mutant, Hopefully won't abandon this, James "Bucky" Barnes - Freeform, James Barnes - Freeform, Kidnapped, Original Character(s), Possible other characters, RedRoom, Shush that's a secret, Unidentifed agents/spies, slightly AU, welcome to the 21st century, winter soldier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:28:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 24,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1359136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmathetankengine/pseuds/Emmathetankengine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. </p><p>His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. </p><p>Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. </p><p>Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --</p><p>and then she'll rip him apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Winter Soldier

"Where am I?" came the drowsy response to bright lights and dull walls.  
"The RedRoom."  
"The RedRoom?"  
"Yes, the RedRoom." Hm, because that cleared things up.  
Next question. "Who am I?"  
"James Barnes, but it doesn't matter who you are. It only matters what you will become."  
"And what's that?" he asked, raising his hands until they were visible, confusion evident on his face due to a strange sensation. Oh, this had to be a dream.. a nightmare.  
"The Winter Soldier."


	2. Events in Winter Showers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. 
> 
> His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. 
> 
> Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. 
> 
> Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --
> 
> and then she'll rip him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've seen CATWS. 
> 
> No spoilers. 
> 
> Nor will it have anything to do with this fic really. 
> 
> <3

The coffee shop smelt of freshly ground coffee beans and sweet tasting syrups. It was a welcome smell. One that filled Dejáh's senses, bringing back memories of a childhood long past.  
Boston blend, an old coffee shop that had been bought over last year. Apart from the name printed on the cardboard cups and thin paper, and fairly scarce, napkins, the shop had basically stayed the same as it had been for many years.  
In an attempt to escape the cold, Dejáh heaved open the heavy door and slipped into the orange walled cafe, pushing the hood of her fitted coat off her head and letting it pool at the base of her neck. The sight of the long, wooden counter, topped with large, metal coffee machines, a selection of delicately made accompaniments and the promise of a hot beverage was almost too appealing.

The Barista offered a smile as the young - and utterly drenched - raven haired girl trudged over to the counter.  
"The usual, please," were the only words shared before the nice blonde girl began making Dejáh's coffee.  
After passing her money over, Dejáh lifted a few sachets of sugar and a flimsy, wooden stirrer before casually padding over to a small couch by the window.

Popping the plastic lid off the cup released a puff of steam that warmed Dejáh's face, causing her to exhale happily, before she added the extra sugars her pallet preferred. After a morning run, the gentle heat radiating from the cup as she clasped her hands around it was a blissful thing, the soft warmth finally bringing the feeling into her numb fingers.

Once the colour returned, she used her fingertips to brush away small strands of dark hair from her face that had a naturally pale complexion - although, her lips held a quite plump and vibrant redness.  
The small movement sent a mixture of sweat and the winter's shower dripping from the loose strands and cascading down her neck.

Dejáh loved the rain. She sat back, blue eyes gazing out the window to watch as the cold droplets changed the personality of those it drenched. Once smiling, happy people who were enjoying their day of shopping now ran for cover, coats pulled over their heads in an attempt to stop the cold wetness from getting to their skin and chilling their bones.

She never understood that. When it rained, Dejáh would make a point of going outside, wanting nothing more than to stand there, letting each droplet coat her skin and dampen her hair. It was peaceful. It relaxed every tense muscle in her body and cleared her mind until there was nothing but the sensation of the numb taps of raindrops on her skin and the sound of each hitting the ground that was accompanied by the wind that came with each shower, whistling past her ears and rustling the leaves that clung to the trees.

Dejáh’s eyes refocused, a fussy line of grey shadows catching her eye, coming towards her. She leant up, setting her cup down before rubbing her eyes and pulling out of the land of daydreams. Swivelling around on her seat, she faced the line, her eyes widening in reaction to what she was seeing. As she did, line after line of bullets hammered into the windows and walls, finally – after a few seconds – smashing the pane of glass over her. She had just managed to pulled her arms over her head, her body instinctually acting to protect itself, pulling her legs up and her head in. Time seemed to slow, glass showering down over her hidden form. Free from splinted glass, Dejáh pulled away from herself, only to be met with another shock.

So lost in the confusion of the moment, Dejáh didn’t hear the heavy footsteps coming from behind her. A strong arm wrapped around her waist and a hand clamped over her mouth silencing any sounds. She reached up to the hand over her mouth, trying to pry it off but to no avail. There is no sound from the stranger behind her save muffled words not meant for her. She felt his breath on her ear as something was jabbed into her neck, causing her to whimper against the hand and shut her widened blue eyes, a shudder running down her spine.

And then everything gradually went black.


	3. Compliance is demanded, not requested.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. 
> 
> His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. 
> 
> Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. 
> 
> Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --
> 
> and then she'll rip him apart.

When Dejáh woke, she didn't have the first clue of where she was. Peeling her eyes open, she blinked in the low light that stung her eyes. She had clearly been given a sedative - Hypnovel perhaps, seeing as she couldn't remember the events that had brought her to the small, concrete room she had woken in - and it hadn't worn off completely, black spots still floating across her vision. 

She was sat in a chair, hands zip tied to each side of the back rest. It was uncomfortable, her arms numb from being in the stiff position for so long. Lifting her head and shaking her hair out of her face, Dejáh looked around, blue eyes like little blue lights in the dark. There was no one else there, just her and a metal table in front of her that she had hit her knee off when she jumped awake. 

There was a loud bang, a shaking of keys and then the sound of a lock being opened. Dejáh looked over the the source of the noise, immediately looking away as a large door creaked open and light poured in, almost blinding her. Mens' voices were heard, muffled and whispered tones in a language she couldn't distinguish, before two of them walked in followed by a man in a suit. 

"Get her attention," the man ordered. He seemed to be speaking in.. Russian? One of the larger men walked over to Dejáh as the other took his place by the door, turning on the light before slamming the door shut. The loud bang stung her head, but the slap to her cheek was worse. 

Dejáh's hair fell in front of her face, a loud groan slipping from her lips. She didn't pick her head up; didn't react to the beating; didn't look at them. She just sat, slouched slightly with her head down. 

The man who had hit her grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head up and pulling it back, forcing her to glare at the suited man with heavy eyes. "Ah, Ms Forest," he spat in english, responding to her look and stalking forwards. "My name is Yulian - but that is not important." The man tugged her hair again, holding her head at an unnatural angle. "We have a job for you. And you are going to comply." Dejáh opened her mouth to protest but was silenced, her hair being yanked back and a knife being held to her throat. "You /are/ going to comply." Without another word, the ties were broken and Dejáh was torn from the chair and dragged out the door. 

~

"Ms Forest, we understand that you have quite the skill in biomechanics," Yulian offered as some explanation for her kidnapping. "We want you to use it on something we've had in our possession for a long, long time." Dejáh squinted at him as she was walked between the two larger men down a concrete corridor. It was damp, small puddles on the ground and droplets of water trickling down the walls. Each mans' footsteps echoed through the corridor, Dejáh's silent pads that passed of unheard in contrast to the rest. "Some/thing/? Biomechanics is for humanoids, not things," Dejáh could only question with a hoarse voice. Walking seemed a chore, her muscles sore and still numb from the sedative, long legs tripping over themselves. "I think you have the wrong person." She heard Yulian laugh as he walked in front of her, a deep, throaty chuckle that echoed through the corridor. "Oh no, we've seen your qualifications. You are the perfect person for the job." 

The four reached the end of the corridor, Yulian stepping forward - one of his feet splashing into another puddle - to open a bolted door while one of the larger men returned zip-ties to her wrists, holding them in place at her front. She was tugged forward, as if the man was testing the resistance of the plastic, before a gun was held to the back of her head. The door was swung open, the room inside filled with people in white coats and others in what looked like Black Ops gear, but none of that was what caught her eye. Lying in the centre of the room, strapped, unconscious, to a slightly reclined chair was.. a man with metal covering his left arm? "Ms Forest, we'd like to introduce you to someone." She was dragged inside, the door immediately being slammed shut. 

"We call him the Winter Soldier."


	4. Don't Break Character.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. 
> 
> His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. 
> 
> Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. 
> 
> Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --
> 
> and then she'll rip him apart.

Dejáh was shoved further into the large room. People scurried about, all looking extremely rushed but determined to do their jobs. Two men dressed in tactical gear stood at the Winter Soldier's feet, cautiously watching each person in the room as if each could be a threat to the unconscious man. 

"Ms Forest," Yulian barked, dragging her out of her thoughts and pulling sharp blue eyes off the Soldier. She turned her head to look at Yulian, unable to turn her body as it was held on either side by the two larger men who had been accompanying her since she woke. "Your job is very simple," he began, looking at her intently. "You will keep him in perfect working order; tend to his wounds, maintain his cyboric prosthetic." Dejáh's gaze fell back to the man, her eyes now wandering over his arm. So that's what it was. "Do we have your full compliance, /Doctor/ Forest?" 

Dejáh had to tear her gaze away to look at Yulian, her eyes now wide as if she was pleading, an honest, worried expression falling across her pale face. "But.. But I-I'm not a real--" She was immediately cut off, one of the larger men throwing her down to her knees with a heavy thud and holding her arms up as if offering them to Yulian. "Ah, ah, Ms Forest. We can't have this hesitation. Now, shall I ask you again?" Yulian spread his fingers, latching them around her wrist of her right arm. His tightening grip, the pressure he was applying, Dejáh knew what he was about to do. 

Snap. 

Dejáh howled in pain, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to silence herself, muffled cries escaping her. "Alright! Okay!" she shouted at him, her hand now limp in his grip. He pressed his thumb into her bone, pulling another scream from the young girl. "Please," she whined through hot tears, pleading. Yulian dropped her arm, then, Dejáh immediately pulling it in against her chest, clutching it protectively. 

"Get her up," Yulian ordered and the two men immediately followed his command, latching their hands under her arms and pulling her up to stand on her feet. "Now, now. No tears," Yulian cooed, brushing Dejáh's hair from her face and wiping the salty tears from her cheeks with his thumb. Dejáh instinctively pulled away from him but he held her jaw with other hand, keeping her in place. "What we asked is simple." He snapped her head up, forcing her to look at him now. "Just say that you comply and we will let you go once your job is complete." 

Dejáh tried to force the frown from her lips, blinking the tears from her eyes. Like a foolish, clueless child she fell for his false promise. "I-I will comply," she chocked out, sniffing. Yulian gave her a toothless grin, releasing her chin and wiping his hand on his trouser leg. "There we are," he hummed. "That wasn't that hard, was it?" 

With one last look at the Winter Soldier, Dejáh was pulled from the room, still clutching her wrist against her chest. The two larger men walked her out with firm grips on her upper arms as Yulian followed. Someone must have locked the door as they left. The loud click of the lock could be heard echoing down the corridor as heavy footsteps began marching down it. 

As they walked, Dejáh realised how tired she actually was. The drug they gave her must have been strong, seeing as it's effects still hadn't worn off. Occasionally, one of the men would pull her up straight when she began to slouch, the pain of her wrist now a dull ache her body wanted to escape with sleep. Her eyes where heavy, and she was forced to fight the drowsiness that stung the back of her eyes so she could keep up with their quick steps. 

The corridor they were in now seemed endless, and was also simple grey concrete. Forcing her eyes open, she saw the small door up ahead, the only one in this corridor. It was bolted, and seemed to resemble a prison cell door but she couldn't trust her tired eyes. 

"This will be your laboratory, Doctor Forest," Yulian declared as he opened the heavy door, pushing it open with two hands. She didn't miss the use of the title, 'Doctor'. Well, she couldn't break character now. "I suggest you treat your injury and then get some rest." The two larger men stepped away from her, gesturing for her to continue by herself into the room. There were pristine white work benches against three of the four walls topped with various pieces of medical equipment, an examination bed in the centre and another door to the left. But she noticed something else. There was a clear lack of windows. This wasn't just a laboratory. 

This was her cell. 

"There is a bedroom and bathroom through there, Doctor Forest." Yulian pointed to the mystery door on the left before stepping outside without another word. She was left alone, and she didn't know how long for, but the opportunity of rest was what she sorely needed. The loud click that echoed soon after informed her she was now locked in, and there was no way to unlock it from the inside.  
"Oh boy."


	5. Captivity. It's a lonely ordeal.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. 
> 
> His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. 
> 
> Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. 
> 
> Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --
> 
> and then she'll rip him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one
> 
> Apologies
> 
> <3

Three weeks. Three weeks since she had first seen him; unconscious, strapped to that chair. Three weeks since she was dumped in this cell, broken and told to care for herself. Three weeks since they began beating her and scarring her body. No one would know that of course; no one cared; she wouldn't tell. 

He was coming today, or at least that's what they told her. So like every other day, Dejáh sat on the white medical bed, her legs crossed pretzel as she listened to music on a StarkPod she had stolen from one of the guards that had beaten her during the first week, her arms folded, back ramrod straight, just staring at the door, waiting. Waiting for the next round of abuse, the next room search. She didn't fear the beatings exactly. Some could go as far as to say she was used to this round of abuse, of physical attack, but the Red Room was none the wiser, believing that this could, and eventually would, break her spirit. 

The florescent tube lighting gave the room a bright white glow, the worktops reflecting it's light slightly and making each instrument shine giving the whole place a pristinely clean, germ free, hospital feel. The concrete floor and walls broke that illusion, however. Dejáh was sure hospitals weren't just giant blocks of concrete rooms. Not that she could remember much outside this place. 

The Red Room was extremely well organised, she knew, even though she had not experienced it's workings outside her 'laboratory'. The guarding man, or occasionally woman, outside her door would change every two hours without interruption. Each day, a few hours after she woke, the same man would come in and would make sure she wouldn't step out of line with a 'gentle' line of abuse, leaving scars mainly across her collarbone and lower thighs. But yesterday, the man decided to change his attack. He slashed a knife across her cheek and now, starting below her cheek bone and ending at her dimple on her left cheek, she had a pink, raw scar.  
It had already began to heal, and had started to as soon as he left the room a few moments later. Hm. 

The Red Room. It was a place of routine and following orders, and nothing repulsed her more. 

 

He hadn't come today, however. That was the first sign of the - what had they called him? - Winter Soldier's imminent arrival, or perhaps, 'first interaction with her' would be a better way to put it. So, sitting on the bed, she continued to stare at the bolted door. But being so lost in the escape of her music, Dejáh didn't hear the knock on the door and then the clicking of the lock. 

The door to her lab swung open and a man walked in a few steps. The asset stood behind him she assumed, but he did not enter the room as if he was waiting for the specific order to do so. "Doctor Forest," the man announced loudly as if she was too far away to hear him if he spoke at normal volume. Dejáh stood then, dusting down the lab coat she wore and dumping the StarkPod in her pocket, although she kept one earphone in. She liked this song.

He turned as she stood and gestured for the man behind him to come into the room. "He has a slight injury to his abdomen. You can take care of that, I trust," the male spoke over the heavy - threatening, almost - footsteps of the Winter Soldier.  
Dejáh responded with a small nod of her head, her blue eyes now trained on her single asset. He was tall, with a large frame and would blank out the agent if he stood in front of him. He was bigger than what she remembered, or even expected, but she had only seen him lying down for that few moments after all. 

The man turned to the Winter Soldier, eyeing him before leaving him with a final order:

"Don't kill this one."


	6. Perhaps silence is the best approach.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. 
> 
> His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. 
> 
> Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. 
> 
> Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --
> 
> and then she'll rip him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm going to say that from this chapter on all the dialogue is in Russian. 
> 
> They are in the Red Room after all. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the first part of the larger plot <3

As soon as the door was locked, Dejáh felt the tension in the room. It was hardly a good situation to be in; locked in a room with a man who just had to be told not to kill you. It wasn't as if the young doctor felt fear, no. Apprehension, however, was a definite yes. 

"Sit down," Dejáh tested in Russian, believing it to be the best idea to continue in the language he had just been spoken to in. Her Russian wasn't perfect, but then it wasn't terrible either. An old friend had taught her. She was someone she had hoped to see again, but that seemed unlikely now that she was here. 

The Soldier complied - so, thankfully, her Russian wasn't as incomprehensible as she had thought it would be - and walked to the white medical bed with those same heavy, threatening steps. She made sure not to put her back to him, not to take her eyes off him. If she did perhaps he would strike and she would become just another kill for the master assassin.

No more words needed to be shared; he had clearly been through this before: paraded in front of a doctor, his behaviour assessed, the compatibility of doctor and assets tested. But he was bored of it now. It was no longer about having some fun and scaring the doctors, grabbing their necks and throwing them across the room. No, now it was about being able to get on with his job without coming back to this. Being able to return from a mission with a set official to treat him. So he sat on the bed silently, pulling up his shirt to show the half healed wound underneath. It wasn't fresh, it hadn't been cleaned and was already scabbing over, terribly. The wound was too big to heal like that. 

With a small exhale - of annoyance probably, she hated to see such a terrible job never mind no treatment at all - Dejáh pulled over a wheeled chair and sat down. Acting as if he wasn't there, she cleaned in, the moisture breaking down the poorly formed scab and letting it be lifted away painlessly by the cloth. Then, sifting through the drawers of one of the workbenches, she lifted a needle and surgical thread. She supposed it would be better to use than just plain old string. He could be going out again and end up tearing himself open. 

Before she began, she spoke, her voice now more relaxed into the Russian, "How did you get this?" He was only human, right? No one liked getting stitches so getting him to talk to get his mind off it might help. Well, that was her reasoning anyway. 

The Winter Soldier picked up his head, looking at the raven haired doctor he had only met. She talked more than the others, and she seemed friendly, like this wasn't where she was supposed to be. "A mission," was the only reply she would get however, but that didn't stop his mind from floating back to the events, which took place a month ago, that led to his wound. 

 

**The group of four was set out late into the night rather abruptly and now they stood in a four story apartment block looking for a demanded target. They knew very little, only given a quick burst of information as they traveled to the location.**  
 **"In pursuit of 313! Third floor.. heading to the roof from the outside!" was yelled breathlessly down the comms by one of the other Red Room agents, informing the Winter Soldier of the location of his target.**  
 **313 was an dubbed an 'unknown' since the first notice of their existence. Whoever they were, they were a source of trouble for the Red room. Big trouble, as they had proved. Not only had they stolen many of their targets but, in fact, had killed off three of their agents. Be a group of people with the same code or a single person, the Red Room wanted them out of the picture so sent their best.**  
 **The Winter Soldier broke into a sprint, charging up the stairs towards the roof. Speed was not their ally in this incident, their target know for quickly and easily going from clearly visible to vanishing in the blink of an eye. "I have eyes on target: fire escape, exiting onto the roof," updated the second agent who, again, sounded out of breath. The chaise had only begun and already 313 had two highly trained agents seeming like two unfit teens with guns.**  
 **He smashed out the door to the roof, looking around quickly before catching the shadow in the distance. "I have 313." Silence was broken by thundering steps at running speed, jumping and dodging objects on the roofs of buildings, the Winter Soldier slowly but surely gaining on 313 as they sprinted across the rooftops.**

**But then the shadow stopped in it's tracks, slowly turning to face the chasing Soldier. Perhaps they knew he was gaining on them; that they were eventually going to be caught by the predator.**  
 **But that assumption was only half right.**  
 **Within the moment of the shadow stopping, turning and then disappearing, a weapon was thrown towards the Winter Soldier, but not even his quick reflexes could have dodged it. The minuscule blade - that would had fit snugly in his closed fist - pieced the leather covering his abdomen and was drove deep into his flesh, the end tip barely showing.**  
 **"Hit."**

**The next thing the Soldier heard was the instructions from a stern man, clearly angry their agents - and especially the Winter Soldier - had been hit again by this unknown.**  
 **"But Yulian--"**  
 **"I don't care. I'll have a doctor to treat him in a week. Until then, keep him under."**  



	7. Where did all this experience come from?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. 
> 
> His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. 
> 
> Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. 
> 
> Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --
> 
> and then she'll rip him apart.

"Soldier.." she hummed, dusting down her hands as she looked over him. He had zoned out after she asked about his injury, but now she was finished stitching the wound. Perhaps her plan had worked. Whatever he was thinking about it wasn't the stitches. "Soldier," she said stronger now, standing up from her chair. 

**"...Keep him under."**

The Winter Soldier shot back to reality, his torso lifting off the bed, his senses in hyperdrive. But it was the white coat that caught his attention. A cryboric hand gripped the young doctor's neck, the hand slowly getting tighter. Was she one of the doctors who had sedated him; who had jabbed things into his flesh and refused to let him wake? With all the questions filling his head, his grip continued to grow, cutting off the air Dejáh was trying to pull into her lungs. 

But she didn't struggle - how strange. She simply looped two fingers under his grasp on each side of her trachea insuring at least a few tiny slithers of air could get into her lungs. Blue eyes didn't look shocked; her muscles didn't tighten; she didn't panic, she just kept her balance by placing her hand on the workbench behind her and watched him. 

She was used to this after all. She was experienced when it came to receiving injury. 

Her single earphone fell from her ear, the lead falling over his fingers, loud music breaking the tension filled room. But she was losing her breath now, black spots collecting in her vision. She needed to get free from his grasp or she would end up unconscious on the floor at his feet or, worse, dead.

The Winter Soldier stared into her ice blue orbs trying to identify her, trying to remember if she had been one of the doctors who had kept him unconscious for a month. Her eyes scanned her face and stopped abruptly at her cheek. 

Was that a...? The scar on her cheek. The Red Room doctors were never beaten, not when they willing gave their expertise, so why was she scarred? The Winter Soldier noticed the bruising on her collarbone too, not missing the scar on her wrist. 

She was dropped but he didn't let go, his hand, now around her forearm, holding her up.  
"Who are you?" he demanded, his eyes darting over her before resetting on her eyes.  
"Doctor Forest," Dejáh coughed out, her eyes pinned on his as if waiting for another attack.  
"New?" he asked now, not recognising her name.  
"Only here 3 weeks," she told in response, her voice returning but not as confident as before. 

She was good at playing the fearful innocent, but this time the fear was falling between false and extremely real. 

"Soldier!" The Winter Soldier jumped, dropping Dejáh's arm and turning towards the angry voice. The older agent that had brought him to her lab stood in the doorway, one hand on the door knob, the other on his holstered gun. "You were given clear orders. This one you are not to kill." The Soldier had no response nor would he be allowed to answer back. Stepping away from Dejáh, he was taken out of the room by a second agent, - but she didn't miss the quick glance the Soldier gave her, eyes calculating with an almost confused, yet concentrating, facial expression - leaving Dejáh with the older man. He walked over to her, picking her up onto her feet from where she had fallen when the Winter Soldier had dropped her arm. 

"Doctor Forest," his voice was slightly softer now, offering some sort of confidence. "Let me help you." He dusted her down and then sat her on the edge of the bed, putting one finger under her chin and lifting her head up slightly to inspect her neck. 

"My name is Barkov." She assumed that was his last name - they all went by their last names if the didn't have a codename. "I won't hurt you." The bruising on her neck was already evident, Barkov lifting a cloth and wetting it with cold water before holding it against her neck, dabbing gently. 

"Do you trust me?" he asked after the two sat in silence for a while, him now sitting beside her as she held the cloth herself. Dejáh turned her head to look at the man. He was small compared to the Soldier, with a round face and inset eyes that looked at her calmly, almost friendly. His suit was a perfectly fitting grey thing, making him look like a head, a boss, when he was really only a supervisor for the Winter Soldier. He was different than the rest, that was obvious. He was gentler, definitely friendlier, somewhat like a strange father figure in this concrete hellhole. 

So with a hoarse voice, Dejáh tore down a few walls and allowed herself to look upon a RedRoom agent with something less than hatred, "I trust you."


	8. Open up, and tell the target.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. 
> 
> His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. 
> 
> Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. 
> 
> Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --
> 
> and then she'll rip him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I was in Paris <3 
> 
> Hopefully, I'll be back to writing now in between study. 
> 
> Hope you're all enjoying the story so far!

"What--How did he get that injury?" Dejáh finally found the courage to ask as she stood, leaving the cloth by the sink. Barkov lifted his head, watching her from his place still sat on the edge of the white medical bed with his arms folded. "Why are you interested, Doctor?" he asked with that same friendly tone that was still strange to hear in this place. "Well, I need to know how he got an injury to treat it properly."

He stood then, still leaning against the bed. "A target," he began, scratching his chin as he unhooked his arms. Should he tell her? Surely he wouldn't. She was just a doctor they picked of the street and she hadn't even given her commitment to the Red Room - at least, not willingly. But perhaps it would make this Doctor/Patient relationship run a little more smoothly. "Their tag is 313 31B. They're a problem, whoever they are. One that he is desperate to stop - we all are. On this particular night he was sure we had them. He had gotten their last known address, tracked their movements as best he could. He even got close to catching them. Ten feet, in fact. But he was hit by a projectile: a blade was driven into his abdomen from that distance, with the same force he is known to use at point blank range." The sparked her interest again. Dejáh pulled her wheeled chair back over to the bed, taking a seat and setting her eyes on Barkov. The agent almost couldn't hold her gaze, but he recognised to look as one of interest. "He's had worse injuries, Doctor. 

That was the obvious statement. "Well he did lose his left arm," Dejáh concluded, changing the song she was listening to. 

"Is that enough information for you, Doctor," Barkov asked then. Dejáh shifted, sitting up straighter, her arm rested on the bed. "No. Not when you're not telling me all you know. I'm interested, Agent, and I'm not going anywhere so who have I to tell?" She paused, Barkov's friendly demeanour faulting for a second before he collected himself. "Won't you tell me more?" Perhaps she was taking this level of trust beyond the line of suitability, or of safety. Her trust in him wasn't perfect, no, but the more he told the more her confidence in him grew. 

_His plan was working._

So Barkov told Dejáh more, telling of how the Red Room first met 313. 

_But then so was hers._

**The spokesperson for SHIELD stood at the podium, his rounded glasses reflecting the flashing lights from the journalists cameras, film rolling, reporters shouting out questions before immediately silencing as he raised his hand.**

**"I would like to take this opportunity to make an announcement on behalf of the director of SHIELD," he began calmly, lowering his hand and casting his eyes around the room before looking down the lens of one camera in particular, suddenly making his serious attitude clear. "We are, now, in possession of Unit 313 31B."**

**And with that, he left, turning away from the podium and ignoring any questions from his audience.**

"It was a warning you see, Doctor. A public declaration of a weapon. Which we believed to be a new gun, or bomb - something of that sort."

 **After the declaration, the Red Room sought more information on this weapon, and after a week caught a leak disclosing 313's next location. A unit of three Red Room agents were sent out to the off grid location in the dead of night; an old, abandoned open cast mine, in the base a temporary SHIELD base, lit up with bright, white lights. It was a recon mission. The team were to get eyes on and find 313, gaining some information on the actual class of weapon be it a gun or bomb or something stranger.**

**"Advancing into the grounds," the younger agent whispered down the coms, as per protocol, informing the Red Room of their position. The three slowly and silently continued down the mud tracks left by the SHIELD trucks, using their surrounds as cover from the search lights.**

**"We see the ba--," the younger agent began as he went to update again, but he abruptly cut himself short. No. They couldn't know they were coming.**

**But someone did.**

**The three agents lifted their heads, eyes widening in disbelief, with that hint of shock - of fear - slowly sinking in. Ahead of them, standing the the centre of the makeshift track up to the base, shadows falling to each side, was a person with a strong figure. Their stance was definite and threatening as if they had been standing, just waiting for the three agents.**

**The three bravely trekked forward, but so did the figure. The four slowly creeped towards each other, but soon the three agents grew wary. This figure seemed unfazed by their approach. They had raised no alarms. They had drawn no weapon. Until now.**

**With a quick movement, the figure - that was now slowly beginning to form more clearly the closer it got, the shadows beginning to fall from their face - slipped a gun from their holster on their hip, an aim immediately being set on the agent to the left.**

**_BANG._ **

**The agent fell, a clean entry wound now visible on the front of their forehead. ******

**_BANG._ **

**The agent on the right fell alongside his comrade, an identical wound on his forehead, his body slumping into the mud.**

**The youngest of the three now stood alone, frozen in fear. He had been trained not to run, so he did not. The figure drew closer still, their gait not faltering until they halted a few feet in front of the agent.**

**"Who are you?" he croaked in confusion, his gun now in his hand but failing to set on the figure. They cocked their head, looking down on the frightened young boy.**

**"Me? Why, I'm 313."**

**_BANG._ **

"But you see, the agent had not turned off his receiver. We then knew that this weapon; this unit 313 31B was, in fact, a person," Barkov finished, setting his hands on his lap with a small pat. "All along, we suspected 313 to be some sort of new technology. But when we found out it was a humanoid, and a dangerous one at that, well. That's when we sent the Winter Soldier out." 

Dejáh's gaze had fallen to the concrete floor, her hand gently placed against her still bruising neck. "They really killed those agents? So coldly.." she trailed off then, but the sincerity in her voice didn't sound quite right. 

"Do not dwell on it, Doctor. We lose agents every once in a while, all over the world." Barkov stood, patting down his suit and brushing his hair back with the palm of his hand. Dejáh moved then too, but only slightly. She picked herself up again along with her gaze, resetting it on Barkov as he walked to the door. 

"I will send someone round with your things, Doctor Forest. I thought you might enjoy some new clothes, some make up and such." Barkov set his paw on the handle and opened the door, looking back at her. He gave a small, uncomfortable looking smile to the young doctor. "Care for yourself, your neck needs your attention." 

And with that he left Dejáh in her cell alone once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it's clear enough that bold text is past events. 
> 
> If not.. well now you all know ;)
> 
> I'm going to start adding in, or noting, the music Dejáh is listening to during each chapter -- maybe. Who knows.


	9. It's a sensitive topic, not that he knows why.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. 
> 
> His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. 
> 
> Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. 
> 
> Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --
> 
> and then she'll rip him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dejáh's music:
> 
> Hope there's someone - Avicii
> 
> She likes that type of music, a heavy beat/bass. It drowns other certain.. sounds out 
> 
> ;)

Screams echoed through the cracks in the heavy, metal door. Screams echoed down the dark, concrete corridors. Screams echoed in his ears, in his head. 

The Winter Soldier had heard them moments after they began, now finding himself trekking towards the sound. The distance the sound travelled first caught his attention - there was no room close to him in a 100 feet radius. Then it was their pitch. Female, and not caused by fear. His heavy steps carried him towards the sound, soon ending up outside a room he was in just days before. 

The screams sounded from behind the door of the young doctor's lab. The Soldier reached forward and unlocked the door, the click of the lock stopping the sound for a moment as if the people inside were waiting to see who it was. So he pushed open the door.. and froze, his grip on the door handle tightening -- this was worse than usual. 

The back of Dejáh's white lab coat was drenched in red, a few drops even falling in splashes on the concrete floor, her hair was pulled out of it's normally clean ponytail and was tossed about her shoulders, her blue eyes were shut tight, the screams he heard now just small whimpers from the depth of her throat. 

Standing in the corner of the room, a pair of men - fairly young men at that - stood with her; one holding her shoulders, the other with a scalpel in his hand. Without warning they had grabbed her and slashed at her back, the normal wounds on her collarbone and thighs apparently now seen as not enough abuse. The two men lifted their gaze from the doctor - who still held her head high, despite the situation she was in - and their grins fell from their faces.

"Get off!" he growled at the two agents dawned in black, storming towards them with those same heavy, threatening footsteps. Dejáh's shoulders were immediately released, the scalpel dropped to the floor, the men circling away from the approaching Soldier. The look they got from him was enough to send them out the door, but he made the extra effort of grabbing the scalpel and throwing it at one of them as they ran out, the man tripping into the door before setting off, holding his bleeding shoulder. 

Dejáh had dropped herself to the ground and pulled herself into the corner. There she sat, knees pulled up to her chest, her body pressed as close to the wall as possible without putting pressure on the wounds that were splashed across her back. Her eyes were still shut, her ear to the wall as if trying to escape the sounds of the room. She was in so much pain; excruciating pain. She was used to the beatings; to the rounds of abuse; to the deep cuts and heavy bruising, but there was one thing she could not take.

Her back was ultra-sensitive. Every nerve ending's sensitivity was multiplied, the smallest graze often being too much from her, sending shooting pains across her back and up her spine. 

The Winter Soldier approached her then, heavy, threatening steps now lighter, almost cautious. 

But Dejáh didn't notice that, she just noticed that he was coming closer. Too close. 

_Perhaps he would finish the job himself._

Her head shot up as his step got within a meter of her, wide eyes opening and locking on his. However, the were grey now, no longer the ice blue he had saw before, and they were pleading, begging for some silent prayer. 

"Please," she breathed out silently, her voice hoarse and broken. The Soldier lowered to her level, crouching in front on her. His eyes were equally set on hers, pinned on nothing else but her. He had almost not heard her when she spoke but he made out that single word. "Please, d-don't touch my back again," came the second whisper a little louder now, tears threatening to spill once again from her eyes. As he had moved she had pressed in closer to the wall, her back now beginning to touch it. Perhaps that was the reason for her watery eyes. But then again, her fear had doubled now. 

"I'm not going to." It was a clear response after a moment of silence, smooth, calm, relaxed - nothing like his normal tone of voice - not harsh and brittle like it had been the last time he spoke. He reached out his hand to help her up, but the young doctor cowered further into the corner, wincing as open wounds felt the cold concrete. 

She didn't believe him.

She shook her head at his offered hand, tears now cascading down her cheeks, her breath catching in her throat until she coughed it clear. The Soldier sighed - silently as though to not show his disappointment - and pulled his hand back to his knee. She had to move; she needed her wounds seen to. 

The two sat in further silence then, Dejáh's quieted whimpers occasionally breaking that silence, until the Soldier had an idea. 

 

Instead of a cry, a click broke the silence, a hushed whir following until a metal hand was held out to her, a finger waving as a gesture for her hand. It was a hand that hurt her; flesh that had scarred flesh, so this was different, right? This was a small net of safety, an unspoken promise of 'no touching', of no more injury - at least not today. 

She took a moment, but slowly realised the gesture. Long, slim and blood coated fingers slipped nervously into the silver palm, a small attempt at a hold even beginning as the Soldier closed his fingers around her hand slowly, gently - which was clearly a rare thing him to do, going by his hesitation. 

He stood first, bringing Dejáh up to her feet as he balanced on his, but he still didn't touch her, just kept the loose grip on her hand. She was shaky at first, having to slump against the wall for a moment before standing securely on her feet. He saw, as she pulled away from it, the crimson stain she had left behind on the concrete, even the few drops on the floor. 

So he walked her over the bed and sat her down. Her small frame shook, the pain not subsiding, almost even increasing. So making sure she was stable he went and looked through the drawers for something to stop the bleeding, to aid her wound.

She couldn't be sure it was out of feeling that he helped her, that he stopped the men from doing what they had, but then neither could he. Something told him to stop it, to help her. She was nothing to those men; she was of no strategic value to them so why beat her? She had no information to give and she has already begun her job of treating his as she was asked - or ordered. He thought they would treat her fairer, so if she did become valuable she would have some level of trust or confidence in them.  
Perhaps this was him just following his training; just following the rules. 

He lifted a cloth and a bandage, soaking the cloth lightly to be used to clean the wounds. The Soldier knew enough to do it, he had temporarily treated himself on missions before. He just had to recreate the process. He walked to the bed where she sat and lifted the cloth, using metal to begin taking off her lab coat. 

But he was pushed away, a tired, whimpered moan accompanying the action. Dejáh was looking at him with those same wide, grey eyes, her hand slowly retracting from his arm. "You can't leave it. You're going to bleed out like that," he tried to reason, going back to take off her coat to only be more forcibly pushed away again. 

"I can do it, just.." He dropped his hand then, putting the cloth in his metal hand and giving it to her. 

"Do it then," he told, the hint of an order threatening to sneak through. But what he said was true. The extent of her wounds; the blood loss he had already seen, it was obvious it needed immediate attention. Dejáh took the cloth from him wearily, clutching it with her stained fingers, the blood being absorbed into the cloth slightly. 

The Soldier shifted on his feet before looking about the workbenches, spotting what he wanted and lifting it over. He had remembered how an earphone had fallen from her ear days before when he had grabbed her. "Here," he set the small StarkPod beside her on the bed, Dejáh immediately lifting the earphones and popping them in, turning the volume up to the loudest and hitting play. 

Her body immediately relaxed a bit, her breathing slowed to a more easy rate like she had found an escape from the pain in a few notes of a song. 

The Soldier watched silently then, Dejáh removing her coat but not her shirt, reaching under the fabric to clean her wounds, occasionally having him clean the cloth when it began too sodden with blood. 

After ten minutes of music and medical care, Dejáh spoke, her voice broken by small little hisses of pain as she dabbed each wound. 

_Oh, what was she doing._

"Soldier... I heard one of them call you James. Can... Can I call you James?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was some 'nice' WS. Perhaps his mood change with Dejáh was sudden, but that's what he's all about, right? Sudden reactions. 
> 
> And, admit it, with that situation being nice was necessary so, James, don't be strangling my girl again.


	10. Emotions get in the way - but that's the point.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. 
> 
> His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. 
> 
> Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. 
> 
> Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --
> 
> and then she'll rip him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dejáh's music:
> 
> Black Widow - Iggy Azalea ft. Rita Ora

The Soldier stilled, only moving his hand when Dejáh gave him the cloth to clean once again. Never before had he been asked if someone could do something, something that was related to him. 

"You... yes," he approved with a shallow voice, lifting his head from it's fallen state to peer into the eyes of the wounded doctor. "If you want to, I mean." He felt compelled to add that. Other people ordered him about, they told him how to act, how to speak - or not to - most of the time. He was never asked if he was okay with it. 

Dejáh felt a smile creep onto her face, a small, teeth white grin the first response to being allowed to call him by his name. That would be nice, friendlier. 

_It inspired confidence._

"James," Dejáh tested, missing the ghost of a smile that cast itself of the Soldier's lips as she lent over to pick up the bandages. It felt comfortable, and even seemed to slightly break the tension that had built between to two. She sat up with a hiss and looked at him as she unraveled the start of it. "How can you do that without looking?" he asked as she began to wrap it around her torso, carefully placing it so it was layered the most over the cuts. "Mm, I don't know. Experience." 

That's what was confusing him. Had she been in a situation like this many times before? Was that why her trust was so broken? 

"I still need some help though. When it's available," Dejáh added as she caught the bandage as it fell from her grip as she brought it around her front. 

_Such fast reflexes.._

The Soldier offered a metal hand which Dejáh gratefully accepted, getting him to separate his fingers and looping the rolled bandage in his fingers as she dabbed away a drop of blood that trickled down her side. 

That was something else she did differently. He didn't miss how she looked at his arm. It wasn't a dismissive look, it wasn't a hateful or 'what the hell is that?' type of look. She looked at with longing interest, as if she wanted to ask questions she wouldn't allow slip past her lips. So then his wordless promise as he had offered the metal the first time was a rather smart move. 

"What do I call you then?" he piped up after Dejáh pinned the end of the bandage, pulling down the bottom of her shirt - not caring that it was coated in now drying blood. Dejáh lifted her head, the same feeling her had felt when she had asked about his name now finding it's way to her. 

"D-Dejáh," she stuttered unsurely, dropping her gaze, feigning doing so to button her collar and then looking at the wall. The Soldier watched her, sensing that small shyness that was showing itself in the young girl. 

_Must have been good playing pretend as a child._

"Nice to meet you, Dejáh," he spoke, enjoying how her name felt on his lips. "That's a nice name." 

"Thanks," was all he got in response, Dejáh slipping off the bed and changing the song she was listening to. She felt his eyes on her but still did not lift her gaze, just tidied up the things she had used and the plopping into the wheeled chair.  
But she began to grow curious. "James, why did you come?"

"I heard screaming."

"And..?"

"Saw what was happening, felt like I aught to stop it." 

"Oh.. Well," Dejáh pushed her hair out of her eyes with her palm, grimacing at the sight of her blood on her fingertips. "I'm sorry about what you saw."

The Soldier froze for the second time, completely taken aback. "What? Sorry? It wasn't your fault." He walked over to her again, lifting a hand towel as he went. 

He recognised that look she gave to the distance. She was reliving the pain, remembering the sensations. He stopped in front of her, his metal taking her shaking hand. He used to the towel to clean her hands - still barely touching her with his other hand - setting them gently in her lap as the crimson vanished. 

He wouldn't speak of it again; he didn't need to. 

But as he watched her, as he sat on the bed and just looked at her as she escaped in her music, he began to feel a dull, numb sensation in his chest. He didn't know what it could possibly be. 

He just knew it had something to do with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank my Beta Reader
> 
> She's brilliant and I fear I would have ditched this story by now without her. 
> 
> Means the world <3
> 
> So this chapter's for her.. because she loves her some fluffy stuff -3-


	11. How can an organisation hope to control something they claim to be uncontrollable?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. 
> 
> His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. 
> 
> Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. 
> 
> Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --
> 
> and then she'll rip him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw look, Agent Barton. I felt like I should include my terrible representation of Hawkeye, because known agents always seem a little more interesting. 
> 
>  
> 
> Dejáh's Music:  
> Holdin' On - Skrillex Remix (and someone else, but I can't remember)

The Winter Soldier was often assigned to one specific mission until it was completed, the norm being that his target would be taken down in little more than a week.

It was his successful track record that made the fear of the Soldier all too real. The outfit, the war paint, the mask, the arm, all of that was scary to the inexperienced perhaps, making them run instead of getting in his way, leaving behind the ones determined but fearful for the right reasons: the targets and the bonus kills. However, there's always a small handful that don't care about the track record, about the stories or the rumours.

313 was one of those people.

The Unit only cared about the kill.

The death of the Red Room agents was kept on the 'down low' by SHIELD in the most part, the only external group knowing about the deaths being the Red Room itself, but once the predator gets the taste of blood...

**The rain hammered down to the ground, splashing back and bitting the ankles of those who dared to go out in the horrid weather. But though the nighttime silence of SHIELD Base #34 came heavy breathing, small splashes and heavy footsteps in the muddy ground. The sound slowly got louder, the source now becoming clear.**

**Three weeks after the killing of the Red Room agents, 313 broke out of the holding cell they had been confined to and was now running, silently, from the base, a line of agents quickly following, yelling and firing their rifles in the direction of the unit.**

**313 31B sprinted through the tree line, leaping with ease over any obstructions. This was the plan, however. They would never just accept the control of an organisation. That was not how they were trained. 313 only followed one set of orders, and SHIELD would be damned if they even knew who gave those orders.**

**One by one, agents fell behind, unable to keep up with the pace of the assassin. They were still inside the fence, however, but one agent planned to catch them long before they reached it.**

**Agent Barton, one of the agents drafted in for extra security surrounding 313, coped with the speed and agility of the Unit and was one of the few to be able to hold a line of sight on them for long enough to follow after. His compact bow was in his left hand being used as a stabiliser as he went. He was, in fact, gaining on the Unit, but 313 soon made that intentional.**

 

**As soon as all of the other agents had fallen behind, 313 abruptly came to a halt, turning on their heel and facing Barton. He didn't stop, kept running at the Unit until he was close enough to throw a punch but 313 was expecting that to be his first stun. Catching his fist, 313 twisted it, almost pulling his arm enough to dislocate it. Barton quickly reacted, swinging his bow at the assassin to knock them away for long enough to free his hand. Loading an arrow, he was punched, a strong fist to his side, winding him and causing him to drop the arrow. But even then, 313 did not return to running.**

**The two immediately fell into heated combat, the agent using his bow to aid his attacks. He seemed to be winning until 313 adjusted their attack, using his own weapon as a defence against his attacks. As he swung the bow at them, they grabbed it and twisted it, pulling the bow as he held the string and releasing so it snapped back and hit him. Barton was no fool, he could hold his own in a fight, he had the stamina, the skill and the strength to do it but it was 313's adjustment to that that made this attack more difficult.**

**Barton dropped his bow, pulling a knife from his waist and slashing it at 313. They grinned - how strange - and went at him, regardless of his blade. Kicking his chest, 313 grabbed him by his uniform and delivered a punch to his face, the grip on him making him unable to pull away and reduce the impact. He swung again with the knife, the blade set for 313's stomach, but it was stopped and Agent Barton's eyes widened in response.**

**313 had grabbed the blade with their bare hands, small beads of blood now dripping from their closed palm. Their facial expression revealed no pain, but instead just a malicious grin on their lips. "What the hell are you!" he growled, twisting his blade free and swinging it again, cutting 313's cheek slightly. The Unit hissed, pulling away and releasing their grip. But they did not stall by responding to the Agent. An unbelievably strong kick knocked the agent clean off his feet, Barton falling back and landing painfully on a small boulder. He grunted in pain, his back bending up and away from the rock. The pain was blinding, but he couldn't let that stop him. He attempted to get up but a foot was swiftly placed on his chest, pressing him down.**

**"Poor, poor, Agent Barton," 313 tutted, a smirk lining their speech. Agent Barton went to reply but 313 moved their foot and placed it on his throat, restricting his breathing. He clawed at their black clad foot, 313 calming looking down at him before kicking the side of his head, the force knocking him unconscious. He lay in the cold, sodden mud unmoving, and only then did 313 move away.**

**The Agents that had fallen behind soon became visible, running at the Unit, shouting and aiming guns at them. It was only four, however, it wasn't even a challenge.**

**They first two were shot down with easy, clean entry wounds to their heads that were identical to the ones the Red Room agents received, bodies falling limp into the mud with a slump. The last two charged forward still, now only a few feet away. These two 313 could have fun with, could kill with ease.**

**Reaching over their shoulders, 313 pulled two swords from their back and moved forwards. As the agents took a step to attack, 313 swung out, the first of the two being slashed across his chest before the second sword was driven through his chest, a delightful splash of blood accompanying the unsheathing of the blade from the agents chest.**

**Regardless, the last agent attacked, attempting to use hand to hand combat again the Unit. 313 let them, dodging the attacks until the agent grew weary. Without hesitation, then, 313 kicked him to the ground and drove both swords through his torso, pinning him to the ground until he ceased to breath.**

**All went silent, the only sound the rustling of the leaves, the scratch of sheathed metal and the hammering of rain on the wet ground as 313 calmly left the SHIELD base, a mind set on bigger plans based on information they had acquired during those short three weeks.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mm, so this is all past event - that's why it's all in bold. 
> 
> I hate this chapter, I could have written it so much better but, hey, we all have off days. This chapter will make more sense later on... I hope :$


	12. Killer of many, aid to one.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. 
> 
> His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. 
> 
> Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. 
> 
> Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --
> 
> and then she'll rip him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a remind, all present day dialogue is in Russian, and in past event(bold text) it is in English unless stated otherwise. 
> 
> :*
> 
> Dejáh's music:  
> This is love - Will.I.Am feat. Eva Simons

Within a period of a week, the routines of the Red Room agents concerned with Dejáh changed. The guards outside came less frequently; the two younger men set on torturing her had only came once, the only wounds scratched across her collarbone and, rather unfortunately, a deep gash in her abdomen. She had stopped the bleeding, stitched it up too but the pain didn't subside and the wound had yet to begin to heal. 

The low pulse of pain the would caused was eased somewhat by the rather strangely welcomed company of one Red Room agent: the Winter Soldier. Although he didn't know about her wound, and he had only come for treatment - however, had once appeared without a single wound and had just spent a few hours standing in her lab and watching her as she went - his presence eased the tension in her weakened muscles, thus easing the pain in her abdomen. Strange, how someone so feared, so... moral-less can act as a balm without knowing it. 

Three knocks echoed through the concrete room from the other side of the bolted door, a little hint of who it was on the other side. Opening the door without waiting for a reply, the Soldier pushed the large door open with a whir of metal function, walking in with heavy footsteps that no longer seemed so threatening. At least, not today. 

The Soldier sat himself down on the white medical bed in the centre of the room, getting comfortable before lifting his head to look across the room at the young doctor wearing her known white coat, hair, as always, pulled up into a straight ponytail, hair falling down from the top of her head to the centre of her shoulder blades. He wanted to talk to her today. For the past visits he had been remaining fairly quiet and he wanted.. well, he wanted to know about her. 

Maybe it was his nature as a spy, as an assassin. The Soldier wanted more information. How did she start working here? Why did they torture her? Why had she reacted so protectively when he tried to clean the wounds on her back?... Was she born with such bright eyes? When was her birthday? What was her favourite colour/season/food?  
Stop it, that's off topic. He didn't really care. 

Did he?

The Soldier coughed awkwardly, pulling himself out of his confusing thoughts. "Hello, Dejáh." Yeah, that was a good start. But Dejáh didn't lift her head, just kept cleaning the array of medical utensils she had spread out over the pristine work benches. Her music was blasting in her ears, so loud in fact the Soldier could hear it too. So maybe she didn't hear him? Shifting, he went to greet her again but he was stopped by the hummed, albeit delayed, response of the doctor, "Hello, James." 

The smallest hint of a smile broke his harsh features, remaining on his lips for longer than he would normally allow. "How are we today?" were the next words from the doctor, a quick glance sent his way before she went back to cleaning. "No injuries." So this would be the second time the Soldier arrived in her lab with no real need to. 

Dejáh slowly placed a freshly cleaned scalpel down onto the counter with a soft clink, the noise cutting the silence for a moment. She turned and lent against the counter, looking at the Soldier rather questionably before the look faded and a small breathed laugh brought a smile to her face. 

_Oh, Dejáh. Don't say you've got that feeling too._

As she had done before when we had come with no wound, Dejáh went about her business, the Soldier staying and even ordering the two men to leave when they came for the next round of pain. Was it strange that she had been relieved, yet scared at the same time. If not today, the men would return and after being denied the act the next would be worse.

Just as the third hour passed, the Soldier stood up from his refound place sat on the bed. She knew this meant he was going to leave, so the doctor turning around probably going to watch him walk out - she liked to watch how his metal prosthetic actually functioned, but always did so when he wasn't looking. But as he stood and she turned, the Soldier bumped in the wheeled chair 'lightly' sending it away in a rush and right into Dejáh. All seemed fine until the back rest hit her, the side of it pressing harshly into the gash on her abdomen. Suppressing a whimper, she bit her cheek, but her clear discomfort did not go unnoticed by the Soldier. 

"What's wrong?" he asked, stepping forward and pulling the chair away from her. Concern was etched into his featured, but to the untrained eye it would go unnoticed. It was only a small bump from the chair so why did she look so pained? The young doctor shooed him away with her hand, the other delicately and rather protectively placed over the burning wound. "Nothing, nothing," she assured him with a hissed breath, her attempt of making the situation go unnoticed failing immensely. 

The Soldier, after a moments unusual hesitation, sat in the chair and used a metal hand to pull hers away from her stomach, looking up at her as it continued to pull her shirt up slightly to below her ribcage. Lowering his gaze then, he silently assessed any damage, a small, barely audible sight accompanying the action. But, once again, he wouldn't speak of her wounds. That was information he'd rather not know. 

His metal hand brought her shirt down again, carefully smoothing the end down with the back of his fingers. Dejáh hadn't moved, instead was just looking down at him with the hints of fear dancing across her features. But that would go unnoticed, intentionally. Standing up, the Soldier soon became aware of their close proximity, so close in face he need only leaning forward a few inches to have his nose brush against his.

The two, almost in unison swallowed thickly - James doing so because of the warmth the had rekindled in his chest, Dejáh to suppress the fear that had kick started and the uncertainty of the situation she found herself in. "I better go," the Soldier eventually spoke up, pulling back as Dejáh nodded in agreement, muttering something about being busy herself. 

It was a swift exit, the chair being pushed over to it's original position beside the bed, Dejáh being left resting against the workbench as the Soldier rushed himself out the door, a small, ever so perfectly hidden smile being sent her way as he shut the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to begin tying the hints together, and for most of you, you probably didn't know there were hints. 
> 
> SURPRISE! *pops confetti*
> 
> Thank you all for reading and leavin kudos(kudoses?). It means so much <3


	13. Left alive to send a message.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. 
> 
> His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. 
> 
> Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. 
> 
> Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --
> 
> and then she'll rip him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dejáh's music:
> 
> Eat, Sleep, Rave, Repeat - Calvin Harris and Fatboy Slim
> 
>  
> 
> A little bit of past event in the chapter, which is the parts of the story I love to write.  
> I hope this isn't all too confusing with the bold and normal text. If so, just let me know in the comments and I'll try clear it up.
> 
> The italic writing will soon explain itself ;) 
> 
> :*

Some people would say that a relationship formed in darkness is one that will hold strong, one that is beneficial, one that will last. In a world without trust, with someone who should not be trusted, that's exactly what happened; a relationship formed.

Two weeks had past now, the Soldier coming to Dejáh's lab everyday - or every day he could at least - for no known reason. If he was forced to admit it, it was because he wanted to watch over her, maybe that he just wanted to be with her. It was unusual to have someone within the Red Room who was quite so bubbly, happy even though they were stuck here. 

It almost made him happy, he even found himself smiling once or twice in that little, hospitalised cell. 

He needed that today after a nights worth of unproductive fighting; he needed his little ray of sunshine with sky blue eyes. 

For the first time, Dejáh had decided to sleep in the room behind the door to the left. Every other night she dared to sleep it had been on the trolley bed in the centre of the lab, with the back rest up fully and a scalpel in her hand. Although it didn't seem it, she was on high alert. She was ready for the next attack, wherever it may be from, but yet.. she did nothing. She always let herself be hurt. 

_But that's the idea._

The 'bedroom' was even smaller than the lab. It was a simple, concrete cube with a small bed in the centre with enough room on either side to walk without being to squashed. It was quieter, though. The closed door blocked off some more of the sounds from the agents in the corridor outside her lab and she could sometimes even hear people outside, one night even falling to sleep to the sound of the rain beating outside. 

She woke early, as always, getting up and changing into some of the clothes Barkov had brought to her like he promised. Black leggings and tight, grey shirt was the slightly disappointing choice today, but it would do. She pulled on her white lab coat that, a few days ago, had finally got the blood stains washed out if it - curtsy of the Soldier - popped in her earphones and yanked open the door to the lab, twisting out backwards to shut to door behind her. 

The door shut with a click, Dejáh exhaling heavy in preparation for whatever was to come today. 

"Did you sleep well?" came the dark voice from the other side of the lab.

Dejáh spun on her heels, slamming back into the door with a loud thump, knocking the air out of her lungs. Quickly blinking, her vision cleared a bit, seeing that within the shadows stood the Soldier. Leather covered body blending perfectly into the dark, his metal arm glinting slightly. His eyes where the only thing that was truly visible, blue, almost grey, eyes standing out and locking into Dejáh's flaring blue orbs. 

"I didn't mean to frighten you," he offered in some consolidation, chuckling as he sauntered forward. Dressed in his combat gear, Dejáh was suddenly drawn to how broad his shoulders were; how, even though one was flesh and one was metal, his arms were equally muscular; how wide his chest was and how his waist tapered in giving way to strong legs that carried him with such a threatening swagger that she had never witnessed before. 

_Hey! Snap out of it._

Dejáh shook her head, drawing herself out of her thoughts and bringing her attention back to the current situation. The Soldier stood only a foot away from her now, and suddenly she felt claustrophobic, pressing back into the closed door as if seeking more personal space.

"You didn't," she tried, helplessly using her hands to describe her speech, "I mean, you did but..." The Soldier grinned at her, a perfect, white smile that took away her fear oh so simply. "Were you out?" she piped up then, falling back into admiring his uniform... him.

The Soldier eyed her, nodding then. Dejáh's eyes were now set on his, giving him a rather strong 'this is my territory' look. He wasn't threatened, but he got the message. 

After a little moment's silence, Dejáh's heart beating out of her chest, the Winter Soldier turned, walking slowly away from her and to the white bed, perching himself up on it.

He would sit there for the next hour in silence, like always, and Dejáh wouldn't object to it. 

~

"James, stop watching and help," Dejáh muttered, relaxing back after standing on her tip toes for the past few minutes, pulling her arms back down with a huff. "I can't reach." She put her hand on the workbench, turning her head to look at the Soldier who watched her with a cocky grin, his eyes narrowed slightly yet piercing and set on her. 

Large feet landed on the ground with a muffled thud as the Soldier stood up, sauntering over to Dejáh slowly, purposely. "What is it you want?" he asked lowly, his voice adding a quickened beat to her heart that sent a shock through her chest. "The.. The book, up there." She pointed up to the top of the cabinets that lined the wall, at a little book with a thick, dark blue spine. It was covered with a thick coating of dust, and, although she suspected it to be true, was left behind by the last doctor to inhabit this cell.

The Soldier looked up at it quickly, standing beside her now. Rather smoothly, he placed on hand on Dejáh's other side, resting it on the counter and forcing Dejáh to have to stay where she was. He reached up, his tall frame making it easy to grab it and pull it down. Dejáh took in a deep breath, then. With the inhale, she caught his scent. He smelt warm, a mix of leather and spices filling her nose. 

She repeated the slow breaths... for the oxygen, not because he smelt amazing. 

Okay, maybe because he smelt amazing. 

He brought his arm down, staying in his close position beside her and handing it to her. "Seems scrawny. What d'you want it for?" he asked her, his voice now a little more level, more relaxed. But she didn't miss the smirk that lined his speech.

Dejáh tossed the book in her hands, gently removing the layer of dark grey, fluffy dust that made the book look neglected. "I want to read it," she answered with a rather 'what did you think?' attitude, lifting her head to look up at him. They were close again, and this situation seemed to occur a lot more frequently now. The Soldier dipped his head slightly to make better eye contact with her, his eyes soft, but she couldn't shake the threatening feeling that radiated of him, no matter how much she wanted to. "And I've nothing better to do," she finished, dropping her head again, embarrassed, and feeling worn out. 

There was no response to that, but there was a little sigh from the Soldier - that was a response in itself, perhaps. 

As he went to speak, he was cut off, the bolted door to Dejáh's cell being swung up, slamming into the wall and a trolley being rolled in surrounded by people in white coats. They were shouting almost, clearly worked up about something, or someone. 

She hadn't noticed the new position of the Soldier. He was almost standing in front of her, the hand that had been on the countertop now at the small of her back, lightly gripping onto the fabric of her coat. What was he... was he trying to protect her? 

"Doctor Forest!" came a chirpy call then, a man in a perfectly tailored suit coming in through the door, short blonde hair brushed back, seemingly ignoring the commotion caused by the hustling doctors. 

_Oh no._

Yulian grinned at her, a vicious, venom filled flash of white teeth. "I have a job for you." He walked further into the room, shooing away some of the doctors as he went towards Dejáh and the Soldier who was given one quick glance before his eyes were reset on the young doctor. "I trust you will comply."

At that Dejáh truly froze; she placed her hand over her wrist and her head span. She was going to faint, her face even lost the little colour it held. With a fluttering pulse, she nodded her head quickly, desperately. As she did, the Soldier's grip on her increased. He was seeing exactly how she was reacting to Yulian's presence; he recognised her uneasy behaviour. But what he was doing in an act of protection was seen by Dejáh as an indication of another threat.

She rushed away from them both, going to stand on the other side of the new trolley, eyeing an awfully beaten man who lay lamely on the bed, unconscious. The other doctors rolled the original trolley out of the room to make way for this one, pushing it into place an hooking the man up to various new machines before finally leaving. 

"I want you to treat him, Doctor," Yulian began as he stepped up to the other side of the bed, the Soldier taking his place by the door - his eyes were set on Dejáh, however, and his stare did not falter. "And it is essential that he lives, that he wakes, that he remembers and that he talks. 

"Remembers what?" It wasn't a stupid question, and Dejáh was a curious being no matter what the circumstances. Her hands were viciously gripping the sides of the trolley, however, her nails digging into the palms. 

Yulian just grinned at her. He wasn't going to tell. He stepped away from the bed, his eyes now on hers as he smoothed down his suit jacket. "Ensure he wakes, Doctor." With a nod of his head, he walked to the door, looking at the Soldier with a inbuilt sense of authority. "You do not have to stay, Soldier," he told, meaning it to sound more like an order to get out than a suggestion. 

But the Winter Soldier didn't respond nor move a single inch. He just looked at Yulian, a shadow cast over his eyes by furrowed brows. 

Someone was angry. 

With a little huff, Yulian walked out the door, it being slammed shut after him and locked, the click echoing through the room as always. Dejáh still looked tense until then, visibly relaxing as she became certain that Yulian had left. 

How was she meant to treat him if she had no idea about what happened to him, or even know what treatment he had been given already. 

Clearly nothing had helped so far by the look of him. He looked completely lifeless, whoever he was, his face white and the veins over his eyelids purple. He was skinny too and probably hadn't been awake for a while to eat something proper. The wounds were the most obvious factor. One side of his face was heavily bruised but was beginning to fade and he had a number of bandages wrapped around his middle under the flimsy, blue hospital gown he was wearing. 

As she looked over him, as her hands finally released the bar around the trolley, the Soldier trekked forward, standing facing her on the other side of the bed. 

"Do you know what happened to him?" she asked after a long silence, curious for origin to the new patient's injuries. "Yea'," was the easy reply before the Soldier sat down on the wheeled chair and efficiently rhymed off events.

**The Winter Soldier had been given his orders, he had his objectives and he would deliver, no matter the consequences. It had been a few days since Unit 313 fled SHIELD confinement, the Red Room obtaining this information from agents - that shall remain unnamed - on the inside. Trekking out with two other agents, they arrived at a run down estate, the place dimly lit by orange street lights, a low mist setting in. It was eerily silent, the only sounds the footsteps of the men and the throaty bark of a guard dog near by.**

**In this instance the Soldier was ordered not to advance if their target was spotted. That was the job of the two agents with him. His role was to witness the attack and identify any major factor of their appearance, of their fighting style, maybe even their chosen weapon, a weak spot maybe.**

 

**The three had begun to believe that they had been given the wrong location, but that muse was broken by a whistle call from an alley way. So the two agents walked ahead, the Soldier seeking a vantage point to observe, or shoot from. Rounding the corner the agents raised their weapons, taking the safety off their guns and then spinning around the wall.**

**_BANG._ **

**The first agent fell immediately, that, now trademark, entry wound on his forehead. The seconded quickly covered and then advanced towards their target, gun dropped, combat chosen.**

**313.**

**The Unit was quickly following, holstering their own gun and going towards the agent. Cloaked in the shadows of the alley, the two fought viciously, but, with perfect adaption, the Unit had him on the ground in moments, ribs broken, face bruised and bleeding. "You never learn," 313 hissed, a sword pulled from their back and drive into the agents abdomen, twisted and yanked back out.**

**Too late, the Soldier came round into the alley, gun raised and aimed at head height. He was ready for an attack, but none came. The Unit was nowhere to be seen, the agents lying in their own blood the only proof that they were even there. He could see the second agent was still breathing, shallowly, but he was still alive. That's what mattered.**

**"313 is gone. One agent down." He stepped forward to stand at the feet of the agent, watching him splutter and desperately pull air into his lungs. "Urgent medical needed."**

"That's why he wants him alive; that's why I want him alive. He knows what the target looks like, up close." The Soldier was looking at her intently now, and Dejáh could feel his eyes on her and she watched the agent in the bed. 

"We need that information."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was kinda a long chapter... for me anyway.


	14. Yet not kept alive for long.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. 
> 
> His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. 
> 
> Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. 
> 
> Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --
> 
> and then she'll rip him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHMYGODS.  
> I'm soo so so soooo sorry for not updating. Tests and live got in the way, but I promise I'll be back after tests which finish this week. 
> 
> On the other hand, I noticed 10 people subscribed to my story. :$
> 
> TELL ME WHO YOU ARE SO I CAN LOVE YOU <3 <3 
> 
> Not that I don't love you all :*
> 
> Dejáh's music:  
> A heart can save the world - Tinie Tempah

Dejáh had worked tirelessly all day to stabilise the unconscious agent. At various times during the day his heart refused to beat, suddenly stopping and signalling the start of vicious buzzers and sending beeping machines into frenzy, alerting the young doctor. She would spring into action seconds before the alerts however, completely calm and collected, and after a few moments the rhythmic beat would return, for a while at least.

The Soldier still hadn’t left. He stood silently at the door now, arms folded across his broad chest, shoulders looking bigger and stronger than they had before, eyes set on her and watching her constantly, carefully as if she were his favourite show and he was about to miss something important - though watching a TV screen that intently probably wouldn’t be very good for his eyesight.

She was getting tired now, however. Dejáh pulled herself up to sit on the white countertop closest to her patient, shoulders slouched yet her back still held perfectly straight and upright. Her drained state was what kept his gaze on her. Even at the slightest noise, she would jump awake, looking frantically around the room as if she were at risk of attack. He even once tested that, coughing quietly only to watch her jump out of her skin and look over at him, eyes blown wide until she realised he was the source. 

She couldn't keep going like this forever though. He knew she needed a rest; a real rest without having to stay half awake to make sure no one came in to torture her. So the Soldier cautiously trekked over to the young doctor, stopping and resting back against the counter a few inches from her. 

"Take a break," he offered as she stared at him. "I'll wake you up if his heart rate drops... or if anyone comes in." The Soldier looked over his left shoulder, eyes locking with hers for a moment. It was as if she were assessing his offer, eyes darting between his until she finally sighed, propping her elbow on her knee and resting her head on her hand. She didn't know why she was trusting him, or why she did at all, but that didn't stop her from closing her eyes. 

 

Ten minutes in, a neck cramp pulled her slowly out of a restful state and she peeled her eyes open, the white lights almost blinding her until her eyes adjusted. Turning her gaze, she saw the Soldier still standing there, arms crossed, lent against the counter. Even though it had only been a short period of time, she was surprised to see him there, not gone and leaving her alone. But another thought crossed her mind. 

Dejáh straightened slightly, dropping her hand and shuffled over towards him until she sat, cross legged, slightly behind his left side. It probably didn't help that she was still half asleep, but the Soldier watched her out of the corner of his eye as she leant over and rest her head on his metal-coated shoulder, the leather covering his torso acting as a makeshift, battle worn pillow. 

Unlike the reaction she would have expected him to give - if she were fully awake to think of such a thing - the Soldier didn't move, save shift slightly so that his left shoulder was lower than the right. It was probably the shock. Seeing as he had only witnessed her being scared, frightened, he had not expected her to trust him or even be brave enough to get so close. 

But he wasn't going to stop her nor wake her. 

Dejáh slept for maybe half an hour like that. At one point in fact, her arm had hooked in around his, almost hugging it as she rested against him. Now the Soldier was staring at her hand that was delicately resting on top of his lower arm. Maybe he was getting tired too, but that strange burning in his chest returned and spread across his chest and out to his extremities until he almost got a strange moment of fantom-limb. It was like he could feel the heat of her skin, like he could feel the small grip she had on the metal formed muscle. 

He couldn't pretend anymore and realised that he could in fact feel the heat of her skin. With his right, he reached across and traced a featherlight touch along the back of her hand. It was an unlikely thing for him to be gentle, but yet he found himself being exactly that with her. The Soldier took a breath, slowly separating her fingers and then linking his loosely between them. He was holding her but only if he could do that while she was --

Dejáh squeaked, launching herself backwards and into the wall behind her, effectively removing the air from her lungs. Her eyes wide and almost flaring, the Soldier snapped around and raised his hands, "Only me. It's only me." Dejáh was heaving now, desperately trying to pull the air back into her lungs. "What were you- What were you doing?" she gasped out eventually, her hands gripping the fabric of her jeans so tightly that her knuckles were beginning to turn white. 

The Soldier went to speak but froze, his mouth open but no sound coming out. Was he supposed to admit that he was trying to hold her hand? "I was just.. You were holding my arm and you must have been startled awake by the chill of it." Yes. That was a good enough cover. Good job. 

Dejáh raised a brow. "No but you were.. I mean, you were holding my hand." Damn. The Soldier, once again, went to speak but stopped. Normally he could talk his way out of anything with a simple lie yet he just couldn't lie while looking into those bright blue eyes. Exhaling slowly, he rubbed the back of his neck, "I was.. I did that because--" 

_BEEEEEP_

Why did he keep getting his thoughts interrupted.

Dejáh jumped to her feet and quickly went to the patient, frantically trying to return his pulse to a normal rhythm. But this time was different. His pulse was racing, his muscles were violently contracting. "He's having some sort of fit," Dejáh fumbled, "James, I don't have the right equipment here!" 

Her patient was fitting. If he died what would happen to her. Dejáh was panicking, and James was a little too but without anyone leaving the room, a medical team rushed in, the metal door once again banging into the concrete wall. 

James stood up straight again, wrapping a metal hand around Dejáh's arm and pulling her away from the other doctors. This time, he made sure it couldn't be seen as a threat but that was hard when Yulian walked through the door, Barkov in tow. 

"Doctor Forest," Yulian greeted her causing the Soldier's grip to tighten - but not enough that the metal would hurt her. He could feel her shaking. He could almost see her pulse racing and pounding in the vein in her neck... He could have sworn he saw her blue eyes brighten and flare. 

Around the bed, the medical team rushed about, jabbing drugs into the mans arm and finally, after stilling his heart, shocking him with a defibrillator. After various shouts of 'clear!', the man's pulse returned to a somewhat even one and the medical team left without another word. 

"Excuse the intrusion, but we were monitoring the heart monitor," offered Barkov as he glanced over to Dejáh's worried and confused expression. Dejáh, however, quickly lost that visage and neutralised, looking at the man on the bed. "He'll wake now." Something about her tone was different and all three men noticed it.

Subtly, Dejáh removed herself from the Soldier's grip and walked to the bed, giving the man some sort of injection. And as she had said, the man's eyes flickered and then opened, his lips parting a greedily gulping in air like he had been starved of it. 

"Agent!" Yulian snarled, walking over and pushing Dejáh out of the way, Barkov and the Winter Soldier joining him. She stepped back, resting against the counter with crossed arms and a worn, yet unreadable expression on her face. 

"Agent, we need to ask you about your last mission." The Soldier was glaring at the man, his hand viciously gripping the side of the bed. He needed a simple description. That was it. No pleasantries. "What does 313 look like, Agent. What do you remember?" Barkov was the one to ask, his voice rather calm and friendly compared to what Yulian's had been. 

The man stirred, wincing when he tried to move to get comfortable. "They-- ah," he stuttered, gripping his head. "It was dark. But they were a--Ugh!" The man's eyes snapped shut, and suddenly he began to scream, viciously gripping his head. "Agent. Agent!" Yulian growled, trying to pull the man's hands from his head. "Doctor!" 

But Dejáh had no time to react properly. 

The agent's eyes whipped open now. They were bloodshot and strained, pupils enlarged. His screams filled the room until..

_ZAP_

The agents head snapped back in a second and fell heavy against the bed, his eyes now white and his irises blown. Blood trickled down from his nose and his whole body was now limp, the heart monitors sounding out in a single tone. 

Something had... Something had exploded inside his head. 

Dejáh stood, frozen, at the side of his bed, Yulian glaring at her, fuming, with the same look on the Soldier's face who had snapped around and was now pacing. She dropped her head and took Barkov's arm, pulling back the sleeve and glancing at the watch on his wrist. 

"Time of death: 19:32."


	15. Tears like raindrops.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. 
> 
> His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. 
> 
> Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. 
> 
> Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --
> 
> and then she'll rip him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh that was a quick update. 
> 
> So yes, a little smidge of James&Dejáh. 
> 
> I like this chapter, not much happnens, but I do. 
> 
>  
> 
> Dejáh's music:  
> Afterglow - Wilkinson

"If I'm a doctor, why would I kill my patient!" Dejáh almost screamed, hands balled into fists as Yulian stood in front of her, his expression clearly showing his rage. A vein pulsed across his forehead, eyes pinned on Dejáh's as he accused her of killing their only witness.

"You inject him. The next minute he dies! Tell me how that is not suspicious, my dear doctor," the suited man hissed, creeping towards the young doctor. She was allow with him now - if you discounted Barkov who really couldn't do anything to stop Yulian - as the Soldier had left, storming out the metal door and off somewhere else.

Probably for the best; he didn't seem to be in a very stable mood. 

"You call me a doctor. Why would I a doctor even injure a patient!?" the young doctor must have finally found her voice, but now, as Yulian creeped closer, that confidence began to dwindle. 

Yulian stood too close now, a few inches, maybe, from her. Pushing his short blond hair back, he leant over until his mouth was at her ear and - after some struggling - his hand roughly clasped around her wrist. "If I find out that what you gave him is what caused his death, well," he hissed quietly, his grip tightening and causing Dejáh's breathing to shake, "I will personally take it upon myself to make sure you suffer." 

Oh where was the Soldier? He could put a stop to this. 

Dejáh squeezed her eyes shut, her breath now accompanied by little whimpers as Yulian's grip became painful, his nails digging into her skin. "Do you understand me, Doctor?" the man concluded, his voice dripping with venom and his breath ghosting down her neck. 

But that's where he left it, removing his hand suddenly and standing up straight, looking down his nose at the girl. Dejáh didn't look back at him. She kept her eyes shut, her head turned to the side so she could breath without picking up his scent; a disgusting musk of too much cologne. 

Barkov shot the shy girl a concerned glance before following Yulian as he stalked out of the cell, leaving Dejáh alone with the newly deceased agent. 

Her whole body shook; her skin crawled; her eyes burned as tears began to form. Quickly catching herself before she fainted, Dejáh slowly slumped down on the ground against the counters, slightly behind the trolley so she was hidden from the door and the view in the bed. Legs tucked up into her chest and now being hugged by her arms, she lowered her head and closed her eyes.

She would be okay. She was fine. No one was going to-- Oh, who was she kidding. 

Dejáh sat there, unable to move, as tears racked through her body and sent her muscles to an aching state. She wouldn't even lift her head until the doors opened again. 

 

It was stupid to leave. What was he thinking?! After standing with a grip of the girl, he left her allow with a man who would kill her because he felt like it. 

Warily, and wearing full tactical gear - clearly after taking his anger out on some poor soul or brick wall - the Soldier heaved open the metal door into the doctor's cell, not letting it the wall as if to sustain so silent entry. 

The doctor was nowhere to be seen, just an empty room with a dead body in the centre, but he could ear her music playing at what he assumed to be full volume. Following the sound, he found her where she had been for that past hour, curled up against the counter behind the bed. 

She knew he was there, he could see blue eyes peaking up at him from behind the arm she rested her head on and the waterfall of hair that covered her face. He was a sight to behold; face three quarters covered with goggles and mask, hair cast around his face, she could only assume she was looking in his eyes and guess what facial expression he held. Without a word, though, the Soldier sat down beside her, releasing a muffled sigh as he rested his head back against the counter. 

The silence stayed for another while before the Soldier reached up and removed his goggles setting them down and then rubbing his forehead as the mask soon joined the goggles on the floor. He could almost hear Dejáh release a little breathy laugh as he turned his head to look at her and she did the same, rocking her head so that it rested sideways atop her folded arms that rested on top of her legs. 

"You ever seen the movie 'Predator'?" the girl asked lazily after another silence. She didn't wait for an answer; "You look like a Predator when you've got.. that on." She gestured towards his mask and goggles with a little flick of her toe, risking a small little smile after. 

The Soldier grinned at her. There she was. The sun was coming out from behind the grey clouds and was warming his tampered soul once again. "I love that movie," she finished with a little muffled sigh, turning her head away again. The Solider couldn't help but raise a brow. Subliminal message or not, he was going to take it. 

"What else do you like?" he asked then, wanting the take the opportunity to get to know the doctor he was assigned to.. and was maybe beginning to get too interested in. Dejáh, through the aches and pains of crying however, just spoke, looking at the wall ahead of her now, venting and almost cheering herself up by talking about her likes. 

"The rain," she said clearly, "I really love the rain." Just thinking about it; was she ever going to get to just stand outside in the rain again? There wasn't even any windows in this little cell. "It was raining the day..." Dejáh trailed off. Maybe best not to talk about that. 

"The rain?" the Soldier hummed, a hand tentatively - and ever so gently - coming across to wipe a drying tear from her cheek. "Not many people like the rain." It was an utter contrast to the image of sunshine he had when he saw her, but just letting her talk, it would help. He would have liked to have someone to talk like this to when he first.. woke again. 

"It's peaceful." That was all she was going to say. She had swapped her attention back to the Soldier. She slipped one arm from under her and wrapped her hand around the metal one that stroked her cheek. In effect, she froze the Soldier who couldn't even bring himself to close his hand around her lest he scare her away. 

She didn't care though, it was simply her turn to hold on to someone she probably shouldn't. "You didn't have to make excuses to hold my hand," she spoke as she raised her head. Talking about nothing had calmed her and sitting with him, she began to experience that warm feeling in her chest that was currently burning the Soldier. 

"Thank you, James," she kissed his cheek lightly, a quick, little heartfelt peck, "For idle chit chat, and all." Not hurting me, not killing me like the last doctor/s, not leaving me alone, not not caring, for being in some way sympathetic.. the list was becoming endless. 

Her words hadn't exactly registered in the Soldier's mind. He sat frozen, staring at the girl beside him. For the first time in... as long as he could remember he experienced a loving touch and it shot electricity though his skin... and he needed to chaise it. 

With metal, he cupped her cheek and lifted her head, the Soldier tracing a feathered stroke with his thumb across her cheekbone.

Now or never, right?

He closed the gap between them slowly, his lips finally meeting hers.


	16. That voice inside my head is regretting all I've ever said.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. 
> 
> His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. 
> 
> Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. 
> 
> Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --
> 
> and then she'll rip him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOPS so I maybe left you guys again :$ 
> 
> SOWEY
> 
> But hello again, I have returned with another chapter. 
> 
> I'm going to try and get the detail back into the chapters again seeing as school made updates quite rushed and, in my opinion, rubbishhh. The fact that it's all unBeta-ed just adds to that.
> 
> I really want to say thank you to you all though. Getting kudos and comments really helps to keep me writing, and not think that what I'm writing is absolutely terrible /).^ 
> 
> Dejáh's music:  
> Good girls - 5 Seconds of Summer

A loud bang outside the cold, concrete cell woke Dejáh, blue eyes snapping open and glancing viciously around the room she had been in for almost two months now. Early morning light would have been pouring in and illuminating the square room if there were windows, but instead, fluorescent tube lighting on the ceiling lit the place with that same hospitalised white glow. 

She soon relaxed, closing her eyes once more as she realised no threat came her way. Still slumped on the floor against the white counters, the young doctor finally felt rested, one good nights sleep revitalising her, body and soul. Long legs stretched out to bring the brunette to her feet but a cold, heavy object stayed locked across her chest, holding her were she was on the floor. 

Opening her eyes, Dejáh glanced at the body beside her, face painted with shock and a light dusting of pure awe. The Winter Soldier, still lost in dreamless sleep, sat the same way she did, his metallic arm across her torso and her own arms wrapped around it. His paled face was perfect neutral, all the stress and aggression normally held there faded and forgotten, hair tossed around his head and falling carelessly around his face. He looked utterly peaceful, like her foolish, childish heart had begun to believe him to be. Even with leather across his chest, strapped tight and protectively, he looked like threat was something unconsidered. 

She mustn't wake him. Oh, how she couldn't. Partially unknowing to how they could have simply fallen asleep beside one another on the concrete covered floor, Dejáh's mind was reeling. The kiss. It flooded her mind and sent a electric tingling down her spine that sent goosebumps erupting along her skin. Such a simple touch had a remarkable meaning. 

_No. Make it mean nothing_. 

The metal touch of his left arm, however, was still the safest. It's touch she trusted, and his promise of no harm to her by his doing rested solely on it. Absentmindedly, the young doctor wrapped her arms a little tighter around it as it lay cast across her chest like a seatbelt.

The small movement caused the Soldier to stir, his body moving slightly but his arm staying put as if he sought to keep it there. Was this a whole other side to him, perhaps? She had seen it already. The man she knew to be relentless in his aggression and never hesitant behind the trigger also had the determination to protect her. He had held - albeit a loose - grip on her in the face of Yulian in both instances the blonde threatened her with his presence and was even doing so now. When she moved, he moved towards her, his arm across her chest as if it was to keep her there, next to him. 

With all the energy regained from the nights slightly uncomfortable but restful sleep, Dejáh still felt the urge to lay down and close her eyes. The Soldier was here so she was safe. She had trusted him enough to kiss him so surely he wouldn't be the next to injure her. Unless her returned kiss was an extreme let down. She hadn't exactly kissed a master assassin before. 

Slowly, she slouched and rested her head once again on the metal covered shoulder, his arm being embraced like she were a young child hugging a beloved teddy as she slept. Her small frame fit perfectly in against his larger, more built one, her legs almost as long as his as they lay next to each other. You know, on closer inspection, Dejáh's build was surprisingly like it was designed to carry out the same functions his was... 

"What are you staring at?" the low, sleep laced voice of the Soldier muttered. So lost in the thoughts that clouded her mind, Dejáh had rest her blue eyes on his face, drinking in the, almost as pale as her own, complexion of the Soldier. But his voice startled her and she jumped, focusing her hazed vision to look at him. But he wasn't angry, nor frustrated. He was grinning at her, his head turned towards her and his grey eyes set on her piercing blue ones. But he didn't expect a reply. 

"It seems you've got a hold on me, there." His voice seemed to be teasing, mocking her for embracing him, even if it were only his arm. Dejáh quickly pulled back, winding her arms from around his and holding them by her waist, his hand now just lost below her grip. She knitted her brows together in almost feigned annoyance, but embarrassment was easily painted across her face. 

The Soldier sat up straighter, but his arm wasn't lifted off it's spot across her chest, a small grin still on his lips as Dejáh stared at him still. Surely he was annoyed. He had spent the night beside her, and it was probably her grip on his arm that kept him there.

The muffled hustling of the awakening Red Room could be heard outside past the locked door, the two simply sitting in silence and listening to the sounds as if it were the chirping of birds on a new day. Dejáh stared at the wall across from them, long fingers gently and almost affectionately tracing across the top of the metal hand that still lay in her grip. It's ridges were explored by the pads of her fingers, occasionally a little smile erupting onto her lips to only disappear soon after. He could say what he wanted, but she loved it. The sounds it made especially, but also how it moved; how he locked it around her in away he did no other. It being her purpose here, although so far it had gone without her care, was also the sign of his acceptance. Dejáh had survived longer than any other doctor had, had formed a bond no other had, she had even treated him more calmly than any other had. It had to be said; she was doing well. 

_Very well._

"You were very tired," the Soldier finally broke the settling silence, his gaze on her as he studied her face. Ah, so they were going to discuss the falling asleep on the floor business. 

"I must have been, yeah," the doctor laughed off easily, her gaze unmoving although she felt the burning sensation of his eyes on her. "It's not everyday you fall asleep on a concrete floor next to a master assassin." The Soldier laughed at that - and so did she, but for an utterly different reason he was yet to understand - moving lazily to almost sneakily slouch over towards her. "I didn't want to move you," Ah, so that's why he was still sitting next to her. "You just seemed very relaxed after we.." He trailed off. Oh, that couldn't be a good sign. 

But what she didn't realise was that her grip had tightened on his hand, fingers curled in around metal and looping around his palm. "Kissed." Good. Thank you for finishing your sentence, Soldier. But the word seemed almost foreign on his lips. She wouldn't have expected any less. It was hard enough for her to even think about. 

"Yeah," Dejáh blew out, one last trail along metal by a pale hand before she shifted and slipped out of his grasp, standing and on the way lifting his goggles and mask that still lay cast on the floor. 

"What d'you think? Pulling it off or what?" Dejáh span on her heel, as the Soldier stood up too, and lifted his mask so it hovered over her face. She grinned beneath it, her eyes lighting up and notifying the Soldier of what facial expression was below the shadow of his mask. The deep black of the thing brought out the colour of her eyes, the ice blue irises looking brighter than he believed they could. 

A large grin grew across the Solider's lips, looking down at a woman who just lifted his things; teased him; laughed with him without a simple care of what he did outside this room. The killing; the aggression; the... reputation, it didn't mean anything to her nor did she feel threatened in his presence. 

"Or how about..." Dejáh reached up and pulled the loosening bobble from her hair, a long ponytail giving way to even longer flowing raven locks that pooled around her shoulders and fell wispily around her face. Allowing humour to slip in, she did look awfully like him. Face covered, hair cast carefree. "Hm.. The Winter Soldiette," he concluded with a tilt of his head but the grin never fading. 

Dejáh couldn't help the utterly felt laugh that escaped her lips, pulling the mask down and holding it with one hand while dusting it off with the other. "You better be careful, James," she joked with the brightest look cast across all her features, hair uncharacteristically down making her appearance seem even more perfect in the eyes of the Soldier, "Seems I could be your worst enemy." 

_Smooth._

How does she do it, was the question that was imprinted on the back of the Solider's empty mind. The men that surrounded him, all dressed up in black and trained to kill, had the tension dripping fear radiating off them when he stood tall, his whole form symbolising a sense of readiness, of fearsome attack. Yet, here he was, standing with a girl who he believed to be just older than 24, who he believed had no experience in combat or espionage like those men in black and yet who he knew experienced no real fear around him. Not like she should be. It was as if she wouldn't believe his true nature. She would simply believe want she experienced in this room and all that was was one out break and other acts of protection.. and one act of affection. Perhaps he should change that. He was trained to intimidate. 

But he couldn't intimidate her. Why?

"Will they not be looking for you?" questioned the now soft voice of Dejáh, her head tilted as she held the mask in her hand, the googles hanging around her arm. She cast her eyes up to the Soldier, his broad shoulders bent slightly so that he was looking down at her. She smiled lightly at him. That crazy hair. It made him look like a little lost puppy and she couldn't resist the temptation...

Boy, did she want to run her hands through his hair. 

"I'm sure they won't be too pleased when they find out you were here all night." The little smile that played on her lips formed into a shadow of a frown as slender fingers reached up and moved a strand of hair from the Solider's face. Tucking it behind his ear, the Soldier simply replied with a rather rough, "It was worth it," while reaching out with metal and wrapping his hand around her lower arm.

The doctors whole form froze. Both his touch and his word broke the concentration she always held, her eyes blowing a little wider and pinning on his. So he explained as to almost persuade her that he meant it. "I have a mission to complete. Intelligence that we've got now doesn't come up often and I have to get 313. I know it's going to be difficult," he pulled her arm down slowly, his fingers snaking down and slipping his goggles and mask from her grip. "But I got to spend the night before beside you." 

No sooner than the words finally connected in Dejáh's mind did the Soldier stand straight and begin to walk to the door. A jolt ran through the Doctors body, head snapping up and her expression falling. 

_Hey. Don't break character, remember._

"James, no. No, no, you can't go on the mission!" What? "Not this one, please!" But the Soldier didn't listen, and he continued to walk despite Dejáh's calls. 

_Wait, what are you doing?_

"Please! James." 

As he reached the door, he opened it and turned back to the doctor who's face look pained. Dejáh was silently begging him with wide eyes, her hands clenched tight by her sides. 

"I'll be okay. And if not, you can patch me up." The Soldier smiled reassuringly at her before placing his mask on and closing the door behind him. 

Why didn't she want him to go? It was clearly something more than wanting to continue to sit with him. She was a simple doctor in an environment filled with spies and assassins. She couldn't have anything on his next mission from simply sitting inside this little concrete room. 

So, what did she know?


	17. It's all downhill after the first kiss.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. 
> 
> His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. 
> 
> Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. 
> 
> Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --
> 
> and then she'll rip him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hELllooo :*
> 
> I'm back with another chapter. 
> 
> The closer I get to the end of this story the more I want to postpone writing the next chapters. 
> 
> There's a good amount left, but still, it's my first story /).^ 
> 
> This next one was supposed to be all in bold so jsyk this is outside main location ie not in Dejáh's cell. 
> 
> Enjoyyy
> 
> p.s. I had to add a warning for violence. This story is a little OTT with that sort of thing so it was the wise decision. •3•
> 
> Dejáh's Music:  
> Battle Cry - Imagine Dragons 
> 
> (Yay! Transformers! *cough*)

The warehouse was enormous, and derelict. It was an old car manufactory, he now realised, a broken 'Mercedes' sign flickering on the front of the building, the broken lightbulbs sending white-hot sparks flying out that occasionally broke the darkness that had settled in as they traveled to the location. The rectangular, concrete building stood tall in the middle of the empty landscape, it being the only building in sight in all directions. All the other buildings had been destroyed it seemed, broken walls and metal scaffolding lying scattered over the weed filled area. 

The black SUV they had travelled in stopped at the back of the building, the engine quickly turned off and the four passengers hopping out before the car had even come to a halt. Speed was key, they knew that now. 313 was quick; quicker than anything the Soldier had experienced before. It made the former instructor wonder who trained such an animal. Who had the knowledge and the means to turn someone into the reckless monster he understood 313 to be. But maybe he was just getting soft, and maybe he was starting to believe that was Dejáh's fault. 

Dejáh was the one good thing in his life. Even though she was trapped, unable to leave that small room, she always smiled at him when he came in through the door. Dejáh wasn't a monster; Dejáh was his little ray of sunshine. 

But somehow the Solider couldn't get an image off his empty mind. Dejáh's face before he left had been so.. fearful. He had first thought she just didn't want him to leave, wanting to stay with him because maybe, like him, she didn't want to be alone. That wasn't the real reason, however. She had begged him with those amazingly blue eyes and now her words accompanied the image in his head:

 _'Not this one, please!'_

 

"Okay," Agent Korez mumbled, checking over his gun before looking at the team of three in front of him, the Solider standing in the middle. He was utterly cloaked in the shadows, his mask on so only his eyes were visible. They pierced the dark, grey, empty, emotionless eyes locked on the speaking agent. It slightly unnerved Korez but he, like the Soldier, had a job to do. "The Intel lead us to this location. 313 is on the top floor, but the place is littered with their minions, the rats," he spat, looking over the men as he spoke. "The Winter Soldier and I will head for 313. Daniels, Fisher, you two will eliminate the goons, giving us a clean path to 313. Got it?" 

There were no questions. The Soldier slipped on his goggles and then the team entered, using the eerie silence to their advantage. Agents Daniels and Fisher broke off and advanced forward, the factory floors main staircase being scaled by the two before the Soldier and Korez followed. The Soldier wasn't used to working so closely knit with a team, but in this case it was necessary. He wanted 313 dead, their head on the wall as his trophy. Perhaps he was a Predator like Dejáh had said, and in this moment that's all he wanted to be. 

For a place told to be littered with goons with guns it was silent.. too silent. The four made it to the third floor without any encounters, the only thing there old equipment and half built luxury cars covered in dust. The moon dimly lit the place through the broken windows, shattered glass cracking under the Soldier's feet, giving the place a spooky vibe, like walking through a haunted house waiting for something to jump out at you. But alas, it seemed their information had failed them. Nothing and no one was here. 

Agent Daniels stopped up ahead, perched at the top of the stairs to the fourth level. The silence was broken by the sound of a small piece of metal hitting the ground and the thrum of a rolling cylinder. He should have known not to be so pessimistic. 

"GRENADE!" 

Agent Fisher's warning was too late and the thing exploded, engulfing Daniels in a cloud of fire and black smoke. The now team of three had dived for cover, but a wash of bullets sent them running back, frantically hiding behind the metal shells of cars and concrete pillars. 

Descending the stairs stood three shadowy figures, all with guns the size of their arms in their grip, triggers pulled back and continuing to fire wall after wall of bullets at the Red Room agents until they too went behind the pillars and hid. The stunned agents were left among the silence again, and all James could hear was his breathing, hard and heavy in the shell of his mask. He would move first, if he could just--

 ** _BANG. BANG._**

An almighty yell screeched out through the silence, Agent Fisher's body falling limp on the ground with a nerve rattling thump, blood pouring from his left knee and upper abdomen. 

'Not a shot to the forehead' the Soldier noted. Whoever these people were, they weren't killing in the same fashion 313 did. 

They had to move, /now/. Agent Korez signalled to the Soldier from behind a facing pillar, the promise of cover fire being too appealing to him as he crouched behind the bonnet of a car. He was used to it, though, other agents ultimately sacrificing themselves for him. He was the asset and as a STRIKE team they were to defend him and assist with the mission. 

Korez took a few uneasy breaths before firing his gun in the direction of Fisher's body, trying to create some sort of path to the staircase. There would be an advantage if the two of them could get down the stairs and fire as the three opponents came down. With no sign of the figures, and a quick signal to the Soldier, the two made for the stairs, quickly and definitely not elegantly descending the stairs and then recreating the process until they stood on the bottom floor, Korez aiming his gun up the stairs while the Soldier scoped the factory floor. 

The people they had encountered had to be connected to 313. The quick disappearing act had 313 written all over it. 

That was good, though. He would capture them and he would beat them until they begged for their lives and offered up their information on 313. He would make sure they thought death would be easier than living; that surviving wasn't worth it any longer. He would rip them apart and he would enjoy doing it - because he wanted 313 dead. He their blood on his hands. 

"All seems clear," Korez sceptically whispered down the comms to his only surviving team member. But the Soldier shook his head, taking a step forward around a fallen machine and looking towards the door they had entered through. "What? What is it?" Korez pressed as he saw the Soldier's shoulders tense and his body freeze. 

By the fire escape, that now was flung open showing a scene of their driver lying dead and hanging out the open door of the car, the three figures stood in a line, all eyes trained on the Soldier and his partner and their guns on then too. "Winter Soldier!" the male in the middle called out, stepping forward slightly and juggling a small box. "Ah, ah! I wouldn't do that if I were you!" he warned in response to the Soldier raising his gun and flashing what he held. A small remote. That's when both the Soldier and Korez noticed the explosive packets placed all around the place, stuck on the walls and pillars and even the ceiling. "Good boy," he mused like he were a dog, and maybe that wasn't so false. He did just simply follow his master after all. 

Silent as ever, the Soldier stepped forward, head tilted as his eyes scanned the group. One female on the left, the other two male, all wearing the same outfit with a matching symbol on the breast pocket. "313 told us you would show up." That. That made the Soldier's blood boil. It was a trap. Nothing more than a trap - again. 

"Where is 313? Too cowardly to show up?!" Korez yelled back, defiantly walking out beside the Soldier. But his muscled, well built body hit the floor faster than Fisher's had, a shot to the chest rendering him speechless and, well, dead. "Tsk. Tsk. How rude of him to speak of 313 like that." His partners laughed, a mocking thing that only stung the Soldier's ears. "Now. We have our duties to carry out."

The male stepped back and stood once again shoulder to shoulder with the silent two. The Soldier knew what that meant. Spinning on his heel, he sprinted for the main door, a large lock and chain in his way wrapped around the handles of the doors. A metal hand grabbed at it, attempting to break the chain, attempting to open the door...

"For the Innominate!" the three figures chanted in union, a small beep echoing out as the remove button was pressed and within seconds concrete blew apart, the floor above falling down on the one below, a violent and catastrophic sandwich of concrete being formed. 

Three people sacrificing themselves for an assassin; an unknown assassin; an assassin they had only spoken to but never met.


	18. Unusually healing hands.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. 
> 
> His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. 
> 
> Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. 
> 
> Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --
> 
> and then she'll rip him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Okayyy so this is a kind of slow chapter I'll admit and I kind of lost my muse a little so apologies for the rubbish-ness and kind of abrupt ending. 
> 
> but ohmygosh FIFTY KUDOS *runs into wall* NEARLY ONE THOUSAND HITS *jumps off cliff*
> 
> Thank you so much guys, you keep me going and I just  
> *hugs all of you*
> 
> OH and this story is now being posted on Wattpad. Ik some people prefer reading on there so <3 
> 
> Same username, titles just 'Welcome Back, Solider' just like on here. 
> 
> *muah*
> 
> Dejáh's Music:  
> Iridescent - Linkin Park

The dead agent and his blood covered bed had been removed from Dejáh's cell, it being replaced with an empty space - just like the space she felt deep within her chest. 

As soon as the Soldier had closed the door that hole grew and ripped and stung until the doctor was left looking like a shell of her previous self, standing against a pristine counter and staring into nothingness. 

_You don't want this anymore, do you?_

Beside her, laid out in a organised pattern, was an array of utensils she somehow knew would be needed when that space in her cell was filled. That space in her chest, though, that one may never be filled or fixed. Music blasted out of the buds in her ears but she struggled to escape in it as normal, occasionally flinching when an image crossed her mind or that pulsing in her chest dropped suddenly. 

It hurt -- and no medicine would stop the pain. 

Blue eyes were now a dulling grey, pale skin was now sickly looking, slender fingers looked starved, plump lips looked cracked. He had left six hours ago and was yet to return. 

A recovery team had been sent out not long ago now, with no word being received from the STRIKE team or the Winter Soldier. She feared - or more likely, believed - the worst, so did Yulian, as did Barkov who had been the one to tell her to prepare herself to aid the Soldier if necessary. How hard it had been to stay composed and not break in front of his beady eyes. 

Left in her own deathly silence, she had only wait an hour to be disturbed again. 

~

The thrumming, buzzing sound of voices filled the corridor outside, the noise radiating through and filling the ears of the young brunette. The thrumming got louder, the buzzing got clearer slowly forming into audible voices that sounded distressed, worried, strained. 

And then all was quiet. Moments passed, Dejáh removing her earphones and standing to face the door. She knew what was coming. She could sense it - hear it. 

With an almighty bang, the metal door swung wide open and crashed into the wall, the noise drowning out the voices for all but two seconds. In a rush, a bed was pushed though, men and women in the white coats busying themselves around it and fumbling with leads and syringes, bandages and staples, swabs and clamps. 

No. Oh, no, no, no...

Lying in a tangle of leather and charred fabric was a beaten and barely alive Winter Soldier. His blood painted the bed and the hands of the attending staff a bright crimson, more of it on them than flowing through his veins. To her surprise - and probably to the surprise of all the people around him - he was conscious but barely, eyes half lidded and his face utterly blank. He was in too much pain to even cry out because of it and she could see that last of his strength was going into his clenching jaw. 

In a daze, Dejáh stumbled over the the bed once it filled that empty space, but couldn't get close to him past all the bodies clothed in white. As she got a glimpse of him a doctor stood in her way, as she pushed through another shoved her out of the way. She was his specialist. She could treat him, she could heal him -- she didn't trust all these people and had a good reason to. One doctor lifted a bottle of morphine and another strange bottle she hadn't seen before. As she watched him fill a syringe thoughts locked together in her mind as did the stories she had heard. 

They weren't going to drug him now, where they? Stick him in that chair and that ice tube - which she definitely didn't know about if anybody asked - when he was in such a state. 

Her muscles worked before her mind did, the young girl darting forward, gripping the doctor and, in an unbelievable show of strength, shoving him away. The male slammed into a counter with a loud thud, his head smacking against the corner and his eyes falling shut. He was out cold.

The rest of the medical bodies snapped around to face her, eyes blown wide as they all stared in shock at the anger fuelled girl. In fact, a whole different look set across her; her eyes - they could have sworn - looked brighter than before, her fists were clenched and so were her shoulders. 

"Get away from him!" she yelled in a moment of wound up fury, shooting daggers at the others. Her eyes were cold - colder than ice - and her expression was sinister, dark, threatening.

How dare they. 

"Get out! OUT!" A strange accent caught her words, but the doctors took their leave. She was the Soldiers specialist, if she failed to heal him they wouldn't be blamed so why worry? 

As soon as the bed was no longer surrounded, Dejáh set immediately into a quick, precise mode. Her mind was empty, her hands working by their own accord and doing the job of serval doctors at once. "Stay with me, James.. please," she whispered shakily as she pulled away the remnants of the leather combat outfit he always wore. Beneath it was a pale, tone chest splattered with gashes and bruises painted with more blood. The sight made the brunette worry her lower lip, a quick gasp escaping her but she silently thanked whatever serum they must have given him in the past. It may not have been the serum they wanted but it was keeping him alive and thats all she cared about. 

All major wounds were cleaned and closed quickly, burns were heavily coated in a cream and bandages and a broken arm was put back into place and cast. Dejáh let her eyes wonder over him to check if she had missed anything, sure she hadn't but still too worried to believe that. How he had survived, she didn't know, but now he was stable, he was no longer bleeding and hopefully no longer in as much pain. 

_He wasn't meant to survive._

Plopping herself down into the wheeled chair, Dejáh stared at her hands. They were covered in his blood, her fingers stained deep crimson. The longer her gaze stayed there the more her hands shook. 

_You should have let him die._

"Go to sleep, James," she mumbled as she looked at his face His eyes were hardly open now but she could tell he was stopping himself from sleeping. "You're safe now. Just rest." She was trying to comfort him, relax him, but the quiver in her voice didn't help. 

No longer refusing, the Soldier let his eyes fall shut and his body relax. Sleep would heal him, he would be fine when he woke up in a few hours perhaps. 

~

The Soldier didn't wake the next morning. Nor did he wake after a few days.  
He wouldn't do so for a week. 

All the while, Dejáh stayed in the wheeled chair by his bedside, occasionally jumping away when his heart beat quickened or changed. 

_Yet he wasn't hooked up to a heart monitor - huh._

Barkov sat with her the first few nights, advising that she go and sleep herself, that he would keep an eye on the Soldier but she refused. Since she had seen that doctor threaten to drug him she found something within herself to protect /him/. It was no longer his turn to protect her. The young brunette, although she had that little trust for him, wouldn't let Barkov stand to close, glaring at him as he stepped towards the sleeping Soldier. 

Thankfully, Yulian had not shown himself and Dejáh was more than relieved about that.

~

On the evening of the eighth day without sleep, Dejáh found herself resting her head on the bed beside the Soldier's left hand. She was utterly drained, an empty human being who refused to close her eyes that were now a dulling grey colour. Her hand on top of his, memories flooded her fog filled mind as she fell into a state between wakefulness and sleep. 

**"What were you- What were you doing?" she gasped out eventually, her hands gripping the fabric of her jeans so tightly that her knuckles were beginning to turn white.**

**The Soldier went to speak but froze, his mouth open but no sound coming out. Was he supposed to admit that he was trying to hold her hand? "I was just.. You were holding my arm and you must have been startled awake by the chill of it." Yes. That was a good enough cover. Good job.**

**Dejáh raised a brow. "No but you were.. I mean, you were holding my hand." Damn. The Soldier, once again, went to speak but stopped. Normally he could talk his way out of anything with a simple lie yet he just couldn't lie while looking into those bright blue eyes. Exhaling slowly, he rubbed the back of his neck, "I was.. I did that because--"**

What if he didn't wake again. What if he were no longer here and she couldn't hold his hand, nor could he hold hers. She'd even miss those failed attempts he made to cover his intentions. She had never got to tell him she had liked it when he held her hand, when he let her hug his arm as she slept so that she could feel safe and now that was the one thing she couldn't do. 

Shifting in her position and loosely coiling her fingers around his metallic hand, something else filled her mind. 

**"Thank you, James," she kissed his cheek lightly, a quick little, heartfelt peck, "For idle chit chat, and all." Not hurting me, not killing me like the last doctor/s, not leaving me alone, not not caring, for being in some way sympathetic.. the list was becoming endless**. 

**Her words hadn't exactly registered in the Soldier's mind. He sat frozen, staring at the girl beside him. For the first time in... as long as he could remember he experienced a loving touch and it shot electricity though his skin... and he needed to chaise it.**

**With metal, he cupped her cheek and lifted her head, the Soldier tracing a feathered stroke with his thumb across her cheekbone.**

**It was now or never, right?**

**He closed the gap between them slowly, his lips finally meeting hers.**

Dejáh turned her head as a small smile reached her frowning lips, a lone tear falling from her tired eyes. That kiss. It had burned through her very being and for that one moment she was truly happy. To anyone else a small kiss would be something almost meaningless, just a subtle little gesture, but the her it was something else entire. To him too. 

_You're veering off course. Snap out of it._

As she forced her eyes open, her body fighting to rest, Dejáh let her eyes fall on to the Soldier's face that was still covered in little cuts and purple bruises. Only then did she notice grey eyes looking back and a small smile dancing along cracked lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O.o wakey wakey James~


	19. Stay by my side.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. 
> 
> His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. 
> 
> Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. 
> 
> Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --
> 
> and then she'll rip him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello-hola-bonjour-diaduit-allo
> 
> I'm back, and hopefully I'll be writing more frequently now that I've got a timetable for coursework and alll *sigh*
> 
> This chapters a little short, maybe even a little cute, idk I can't write cuddle fiction (eye is soz, but I try 4 u) 
> 
> There's a new summary for the story *whoop* The previous wasn't doing the plot justice and this ones a little more dramatic and evil... *cackles* 
> 
> Enjoy :* I should be back to posting once a week asap
> 
> Dejáh's Music:  
> One more time - Arianna Grande

Dejáh slowly lifted her head, her eyes never leaving those sleepy grey orbs. He was awake. His eyes were open; he was smiling; 'James was awake'. Those facts replayed over an over in her mind until the brightest, heartfelt smile spread across her cracked lips. 

"Welcome back, Soldier," she mused quietly with a tiny, awkward laugh, a light dusting of red showing on her pale cheeks. The Soldier simply smiled a little bigger in response, too drugged and still to injured to even move - in fact, he /couldn't/ move his left arm, no matter how hard he tried. 

"How are you feeling?" the brunette asked then, a slight worry in her voice. She'd hate it if he was in pain, hurting..

_Excuse me?_

"Okay," he said simply, his voice cracking from misuse. He turned his head to the side, looking at the metal arm that lay by his side and the slender hand that was looped around his. Oh, how he wanted to close his hand, grip hers too: "I can't move my arm."

"Oh, sorry. I haven't fixed it completely, yet. The circuitry was fried." Dejáh smiled apologetically at him, her voice level but straining to withhold the excitement that she was feeling. The Soldier was back, he was okay and his smile was healing the tear in her chest. Maybe now everything would be alright. 

_No._

Dejáh shuffled along on the wheeled chair until she sat beside his left shoulder, only then letting go of his hand. She had liked having a hold on him as though, if she did, he would pull through. 

For the next hour Dejáh worked on the trademark bionic arm that defined the Winter Soldier's appearance. As she went, he slowly twitched his fingers, testing out his repairing reflexes. 

She did a good job for being someone they just pulled off the street. 

"How long was I out?" the Soldier enquired, tilting his head to look at her. She held some sort of tool between her teeth as she soldiered something deep within the metal casing. The look of concentration on her face was almost endearing but he had never been one to call someone 'cute'. But her tatted hair and the purplish bags under her eyes broke that facade. 

"A week," the brunette responded with a distant voice, clearly zoned in on her work. It was tough, she had to admit. It's not like she had had a lot of experience mending bionic arms. 

Did anyone?

"And you stayed awake all that time?" he asked quietly, assuming the girl wouldn't hear him. 

"Pretty much." 

Oh. He was wrong. 

"Why?" A doctor wouldn't normally sit day and night with there patient, so why would she do that with him? Did she really think he worth all that effort?

"Because I don't trust them," Dejáh admitted slowly with the tiniest sign. Pulling the hot-tipped soldering iron from it's position and setting it in it's stand, she closed the formed metal casing and secured it. Without being asked, the Soldier tested it, flexing his fingers, rolling his shoulder, tilting his wrist back and forth. All seemed fine; good as new. 

Kicking the chair out of her way, Dejáh tidied up her equipment, only once burning her finger on the hot appliances. It was probably the most relaxing thing she could do in this place, sorting out the order of each little appliance and it's place in the many cupboards that lined three of four walls. But it seems that now, after the Soldier's return, the young girl was becoming a little ball of stress that was slowly building with every silent moment.

_Just let yourself crack. You know you want to._

A muffled hiss came from behind her, the Soldier - now with one functional arm - was trying to sit up, the prostectic whirring and clicking as he pushed himself off the lumpy matress. 

"AaHh!" Dejah spun on her heels, arms immediately streacting out and forcing the Soldier to lie back down.

"You're not fully healed yet. Lie down," she told, her voice biting a bit. Scrutching his nose up, the Soldier looked down at his torso eyeing the white bandages around his middle that, because of his movement, was dotted with little patches of red. How was he still breathing? How come he hadn't bled out by now? How had she stitched him up fast enough? It couldnt have all been done by the serum in his blood. 

Frowning, he looked into her slightly wide - and somewhat grey - eyes that were pinned on him. Could love make someone strong enough to pull through something like this? No, that's stupid.

"Lie with me?" he asked warily, metal hand patting the bed as he shifted over a bit. Dejah frowned at him, awkwardly dotting about on her feet. "You've got big wounds, James. I could disturb the stitches... I could..." The girl trailed off, trying to find another medical escape. But his hair was splayed out across the pillow, his eyes were wide and his lips were curled up slightly. 

"Lie with me," he pushed this time, grabing her upper arm and pulling her beside him. He couldnt deny himself some comfort on this day. His skin prickled, his bones and his muscles ached but as she moved and lay on her side to face him, as she traced her fingertips along the lines on his toned chest and fixed a fallen bandage he couldnt help but feel soothed, relaxed... like he mattered, really mattered, to at least someone in this world. 

"You should get some rest," he muttered with a sleep laced tone, curling his arm around her shoulders. "I'll wake you if someone comes in." 'Someone', you could suppose they both meant someone in particular when that sentence was uttered. Dejah picked up her head and rest it on the upper part on his arm, her hand beneath her head. 

She would argue, tell him that she had to look after him, make sure he was okay... but her eyes fell heavy, closing involutarily and forcing her to drift off to sleep for the first time in a week.

However, just before the darkness took her and her breathing began to slow, she heard three words whispered by the Soldier, but for the first time in her life the noise went truly unheard.

~

"A whole week. I've never seen anyone do that - not even on a stakeout. Protective too. Wouldn't even let me near you." Barkov stood at the foot of the bed, lazily gazing at the sleeping doctor who had curled herself into the Winter Soldier's chest. 

"Why? What made her so fearful?" the Soldier questioned as he shifted slightly, Dejáh then readjusting herself to lie in tight against him, though - in her sleep - being careful with the bandages. Barkov had to laugh slightly at that. 

"What do you think? She's in this place. She'll be lucky if she trusts anybody from now on." It was sad. A seemingly innocent girl, kidnapped and her whole outlook changed. 

"Out of everyone... even you..."  
the Winter Soldier trailed off, tearing his eyes off Barkov and gazing at Dejáh.

"She trusts /you/," Barkov finished for him, picking up his head. He tapped his fingers on the metal bar at the bottom of the bed and then turned on his heel, slowly traipsing out of the room. 

She sure could pick them. A master assassin who could kill a man with a metallic pinky finger, and she trusts him, maybe isn't even afraid of him. 

Barkov was fearful of what Yulian had planned for her, but he wouldn't say a word of it to the Soldier.

"She kept you alive. Make sure you do the same for her, Soldier."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barkov ships it.


	20. Things at play while the Soldier's away.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the first time in years, the Winter Soldier finds himself chasing a mysterious assassin known only as Unit 313 31B. 
> 
> His missions are tiresome, leaving him with deep wounds and occasionally a damaged prosthetic, so he is assigned a biomedical specialist to keep tabs on his overall fitness and repair him when necessary. 
> 
> Dejáh Forest, a biomedical engineer - with her own secrets, and surprising 'physicalities' - is that specialist. 
> 
> Through mood swings, aggressive reactions, painful wounds, several problems with the prosthetic and the chase of an unknown assassin, Dejáh will heal the Soldier more than physically --
> 
> and then she'll rip him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayayaya hey <3 
> 
> I hope you guys still like this story ;-;
> 
> We're getting very very close to the big plot so you know, stick around *evil laughter* 
> 
> There's one thing for sure you won't understand at this point. But don't worry, mama Em will soon tell all :* ilyouall *cuddles*
> 
> Dejáh's Music:  
> Changing - Sigma ft Paloma Faith

Florescent lighting leaked through her closed eyelids. The white light wished to wake her, sparking her interest to show her nothing but an early morning... afternoon... evening... oh, she didn't know. The young brunette groaned in protest, curling tighter into the solid mass that lay next to her. The light ceaseed to pester her as she buried her head in a crook of a neck, short, messy strands of hair tickling her cheek as she did.

All fell still once again, the only sounds she could hear slow breathing and a gentle pulse. A muffled whir broke the silence, metal fingers threading loosely through her hair, that had fallen from it's ponytail, in a slow and bewitching rythmn. The gentle ministrations willed her back into the land of dreams, the soft feeling of a gentle touch slowly drowning out to numb brushes, to a thing that passed unnoticed as the darkness took her for one final time that day. 

_He knows about you. He knows. Soon he's going to hate you. He's going to leave you. He'll probably kill you._

_You can't hide it much longer. You're going to break. Oh yes you are. You're going to snap and tear and scar and then you'll never be able to escape._

_Oh, he knows. You do too._

_You know you can't hide like this forever._

Dejáh's eyes flew open, breathing elevated and causing her chest to rise and fall with unbelievable fury. Her head was pounding, voices not disappearing even as she reentered the real world. A voice that had been plaguing her for the past dangerous months within this concrete hellhole had found it's way into her sleeping mind and she could feel it strangling her resolve. 

_Let me out._

The young brunette stretched out her aching muscles, turning to hopefully catch the Soldiers pale grey eyes, hear his voice. Maybe that would ease her troubled mind. 

"James, I think I might have--"

The Soldier wasn't there. He wasn't lying beside her, he wasn't even sitting on the wheeled chair that sat beside the bed. 

"James?" she asked the air, sitting up with a sleepy groan and rubbing her eyes with closed fists. She lazily pulled her hands away from her face, trailing her fingers down her cheeks and jawbones. He must have left, for training or something of the sort. She should have guessed. It's not like he'd let injury keep him down for any longer. 

The room was silent for a time, the only sound a few groans of protest as the doctor sat up. It was nice, to simply rise in silence and enjoy the peaceful haven it offered, the stress it removed. 

But all that stress was returned and then doubled as a sound broke the peaceful silence. 

"Not James."

Dejáh's hands froze in place, now stilled just below her jaw. That wasn't James' voice. It wasn't Barkov's, and it certainly wasn't Yulian's. In fact, they were speaking in English. 

Peaking her eyes open, the young doctor warily eyed a bulky figure standing in the shadowed corner beside the door. It was a man with short, choppy black hair, ebony skin and deep mahogany orbs for eyes, broad shoulders and a strong chest covered in similar black leather to the Winter Soldier's. However, there was one difference in his attire. 

On the breast, there was a small logo: two triangles; one smaller black one atop and slightly larger white one. 

_That looks familiar._

"Who are you, then?" the doctor daringly asked in the same tongue, shifting and slipping herself gently onto the floor. The room was utterly still, the air heavy and weighing down on the woman's shoulders. 

But the silence was broken with a curse, a simple string of syllables striking a dagger through her heart:

"I am 412 53A." 

Without thinking, the brunette latched a pale hand around the barrier on the bed, metal heating under her now shaking palm. "What--What are you doing here?" she breathed out, blinking quickly as though she feared the man would move too fast. Perhaps she should scream, see if she could get someone's attention outside. 

But she was far down a corridor, there were no longer guards outside. She was alone. She was vulnerable. 

_Not that vulnerable._

"Oh, I'm here for you. You've got quite the rap-sheet, Dejáh," he hissed, silently stalking toward her with each word before stopping at the end on the bed, in front of the door. 

"How do you know my name?" she demanded, her voice curling and twisting with her gut. Only James knew her first name, she had told no other living soul. Would he tell other people? Talk about her to them?

"Because I have been trained for this moment, all my life." The man tapped that unnamed logo as he spoke, flashing an utterly malicious grin at the brunette. He took a few steps back without turning away from her, swiftly batting closed the previously unused inside lock. It was a simple bar that he slid across, but it would give him more security and trap her. "And I'm going to enjoy watching you bleed."

Without another word he was throwing his hand to his hip and yanking out a handgun. Time stilled. The clocks stopped. Sounds ceased to be heard, just the pounding heartbeat in her ears. 

Her mind stopped working but her instinct did not. Whipping to the side, Dejáh yanked out the dark blue book she had got James to retrieve for her. Read it, phff. She did more than read it in the last week. 

Flipping it open, she revealed a cutout and perfectly fit inside of it was a beautifully shined, midnight black--

BANG. 

Gun. 

_The Soldier's gun._

One long, high pitched screech ripped from her throat, a body thumping to the floor and unceremoniously painting blood all across the concrete floor of the hospitalised cell. 

The air did not lift. It stayed heavy within those four walls. The silence caught the atmosphere again, broken by one heartbeat, one string of laboured breaths and the thumping of heavy boots running down the corridor.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first real or published FanFiction. Feedback would be greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Thank you :) <3


End file.
